


Snow and Ashes

by soberhearted



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged up Sansa, Comfort, F/M, Feels, Fingering, Fluff, Joffrey is a douchebag, Oral Sex, Protection, Smut, Underage - Freeform, Virginity, current trauma, like always, past trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-07 00:00:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14658981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soberhearted/pseuds/soberhearted
Summary: Sansa is trapped, living under Joffrey and his cruel reign.  Until she begins to notice the Hound and realizes that she is not as alone as she once thought herself to be.





	1. New Findings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first work in the Game of Thrones universe and I hope that everyone likes it! Feedback is always welcome and I hope you all enjoy my story. There will be weekly updates of my favorite pairing in Game of Thrones! Or sooner if the mood strikes me:)

Sansa could not let what happened at the bread riots slip from her mind. She had come to dwell on it, every smell, every touch, everything. She had wanted to help those men who held her down. But they hated her, hated everything she was. 

Shae had told her they had hated her because she was everything they would never have. Shae had not left her side since she was returned back to her room and insisted on pampering her like a doll, not that Sansa minded or even noticed. Every quiet moment transported and dumped her back into that alleyway where those men had hunted her down like a dog. She could not escape it, her mind wouldn't let her. She could also not forget the only one who had come to save her, the Hound.

She had heard the maids gossip concerning the whole incident of how the Hound had gone to rescue her without any command from the Lannisters, in fact practically against the King’s orders. The maids had giggled with each other as though they had been hinting at a secret relationship between the King’s dog and the King’s betrothed. Shae had found Sansa listening and insisted they take a walk before Sansa could hear any more of the current whispers. Sansa had felt nauseated, this gossip would only fuel the King’s anger, dousing any chance of Sansa escaping with her head on her shoulders. She would no longer only be a traitor from House Stark, she would now be the Stark whore as well who opened her legs for man and beast.

Panic had slowly crept in. She knew that Joffrey could care less about her well being but she had figured her life was safe in the capital. Yet, Joffrey had made no attempt to send help for her. But the Hound, he had gone on his own to find her. Perhaps out of the goodness of his heart. The thought alone prompted Sansa to release a small giggle. Shae looked up from brushing her hair and peered at Sansa through the mirror, raising her eyebrow.

“What is so funny?” Shae asked running the brush through Sansa’s auburn hair in rough, short strokes. Sansa had become used to the pain of Shae’s less than nimble fingers. In fact all the ways Shae did things were… peculiar. Sansa had wondered more than once of how Shae had come to serve Sansa, the foreign girl clearly had never done this sort of thing before.

“Nothing.” Sansa mumbled toward hers and Shae’s reflection. Shae huffed in response and continued brushing, clearly irritated but not prying any further. Sansa desperately wanted to talk to Shae but experience had proven that silence was her best option at staying alive. It was not that she did not trust Shae, she did, probably more so than anyone else but she could not be too careful.

****

 

Joffrey had only summoned Sansa to the Great Hall once in the week after the whole incident. The bar on her door had been removed long ago so when Ser Meryn Trant had entered her chambers, Shae had been dressing Sansa for a stroll in the godswood. Sansa’s stomach had dropped knowing what Trant required from her. She had quickly clutched at the fabric around her, desperate for anything to cover her from his beady eyes that were roaming over her body. He smiled, his yellow teeth poking out from behind his cracked lips. 

“Nothing I haven't seen before, little girl” He ran his finger down her arm and Sansa was sure to be sick all over his cloak, one that did not appear very white up close. Sansa crept away from his touch and he smiled once more before leaving the room and taking his post outside her door awaiting her to finish dressing. Shae helped to put Sansa’s hair up in the courtly fashion and picked out a pale blue gown to finish her look. Sansa dressed and composed herself in a calm manner, aware to make sure that nothing cracked the innocent look that she effortlessly gave off. As Meryn Trant led her to the King, his disgusting fingers laid on her bare skin, but even that could not distract her as she had become sure that she was walking to her execution. The King must have heard the rumors of the supposed affair between her and the Hound.

Joffrey looked as pleased as ever sitting in his throne guarded by men who would lay down their lives to protect the boy king. Sansa had never noticed before but Joffrey seemed much smaller sitting in his iron throne made up of swords of the past greats, a title that would never be bestowed upon Joffrey. Yet, her eyes wandered quickly to the Hound who stood in his normal place besides Joffrey. He kept his eyes forward even as she continued to watch him. Just as she was about to turn her eyes back toward the King, his gaze flicked over to hers and she flushed and darted her eyes away, fully aware that she had been caught staring. 

As soon as Joffrey noticed the new arrival in the throne room, he grinned and leaned back in his chair crossing his dainty feet before him. Ser Meryn left her side and gifted the King with his crossbow which Joffrey set gingerly down in his lap. “Lady Sansa, you look lovely today” Joffrey practically bounced up and down from his excitement. Sansa kept her eyes downward as she felt sweat gather at the back of her neck. His excitement had never been a good sign of what was to come.

“Thank you, your grace. You look very handsome today as well.” Sansa recited, hoping to boost his ego so he would leave her alone.

“Only today?” He asked, his fingers evidently itching to reach for the crossbow laid in his lap. Sansa had to keep the whimper from escaping her throat. She knew that Joffrey fed off her misery and pain and would go to great lengths to get just that.

“My King looks handsome every day. I only meant to say that your grace looks especially so today. Forgive me, your grace. I am a stupid girl” Sansa was surprised of how she spoke her words with effortless ease. She knew Joffrey was so much a child that he would believe that her misspoken mistake would only be because it left the mouth of a brainless maiden.

“Of course, my lady.” His smile only grew to a cocky grin as he fixed the crown that grazed the top of his head. She wished he knew how ridiculous he appeared to others. He looked like a little boy playing dress up with his father’s clothes. “Now, Lady Sansa I am sure you have heard the disgusting rumors surrounding you and my dog.” He motioned for the Hound to step forward as he spoke.

Sansa stopped breathing. Her eyes locked on the Hound’s and he seemed as surprised as she did at the King’s sudden change of subject. Yet, he did as commanded and stepped forward erasing any prior emotion. Sansa could do nothing besides watch the Hound’s quick movements and at once he stood between her and the King. Her eyes did not leave his and he watched her with the same blank expression he held before. 

I’m going to die… I’m going to die today.

Joffrey broke the moment between her and the Hound and made a noise similar to a giggle. She could hear him load his cross bow, “So Lady Sansa, have you been the bitch to my hound?”

Panic overtook her, she dropped to her knees in front of the Hound, “No, your grace! I would never! I love you, your grace. You are my one true love. I would never!” She found herself repeating as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. 

Her answer did not seem to satisfy Joffrey, as he stood from his seat in between Sansa and the Hound. “Maybe I should spill your pretty little guts all over the throne room” He smiled peering at her through one eye as he raised the crossbow to her head. She began to sob, unable to control the unladylike noises that erupted through her as he stepped closer to her.

Then at once, he dropped the crossbow. “Mother wouldn't like if I killed you but you will be checked for your maidenhead, Lady Sansa. If you have been tarnished, nothing will protect you from my wrath.” Sansa took a deep breath of air as her heart threatened to erupt from her body. “That will be all, Lady Sansa.” He returned to his throne and plopped down in his oversized chair once more, clearly bored with her presence and seeking new things to torture. 

“Hound, escort my lady back to her room. Be sure to take care of her in all regards.” Joffrey smiled as the Hound gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet before walking briskly in front of her. He didn't even look back to see if she would follow behind him. 

Sansa was having difficulty maintaining her balance, she still could hardly breathe and the panic that the king set in her was hard to shake off so quickly. Sansa realized the Hound was waiting for her to follow him and she was hit with a new wave of confusion by the King’s words. Why would he have the Hound escort her even though the rumor surrounded him as well? She was too tired to think any more on the matter and turned to follow the Hound out of the throne room, relieved to leave Joffrey however she could.

She followed slowly behind him, careful not to make any noise that would anger the Hound. Guilt was eating at her. Guilt for what? She did not know. But she felt she must say something to him. To thank him for saving her? For not letting those men rape her? He had only saved her from those men to deposit her back into the arms of the worst of them all. Joffrey would do much worse to her, that she was sure of. Yet, the Hound seemed to care about her, she had no idea why. Perhaps he did care for her the way a man does a woman. She cursed herself internally at the thought of being tainted once more by her old false beliefs of the world, of true love, and knights and maidens.

The tension between them was palpable as he continued to walk in front of her, obviously awaiting the moment he was rid of her and could return to the King’s side. They reached her door and Sansa opened her mouth to begin to say something when the Hound suddenly turned around to face her.

“Say it, girl. Whatever you have been trying to say, say it for gods sake!” He sneered at her, his head shaking from side to side while he looked over her head.

“Ser-“ She began to speak only to be interrupted.

“Not a ser.” He snapped at her before taking large steps toward her closing the distance between them. Sansa instinctively backed up from this imposing man who was now close enough that she could see the scars on his face with such precision and perfection that she could practically trace the grooves and ridges in his skin. He seemed displeased that she was watching him as he let out a large huff before backing away from her and turning to go.

“Wait!” She cleared her throat, fully aware of her inappropriate and unseemly behavior as a lady. Yet, she had his attention as he stopped dead in his tracks and turned toward her, impatient and uncaring.

“I wanted to thank you.” He seemed confused by her words so she stumbled through her clarification. “For saving me during the… that day.” Her eyes focused on a red mark on the floor until his feet covered where she had been looking. She brought her eyes to his and for once, she saw him not as the Hound but as a person stuck exactly where she was, seeking to escape just as much as she did. “You came for me when no one else would. I owe you a great deal.”

She watched his eyes narrow and then widen in his surprise. He seemed unaware of how to respond and for once, Sansa felt at ease around him. He was not as scary as he seemed and Sansa stepped closer to him feeling bold and empowered by his reaction to her words. She reached out slowly and placed her hand lightly upon the scars on his cheek, aware of the slight jump at her touch. Nothing ever felt more appropriate than in this minute and without a second thought, she leaned forward and placed her lips upon his.


	2. Secrets and Burdens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is confronted with her actions and the Hound knows just what she needs.

Sansa could not have told herself in that moment what had compelled her to kiss the Hound, but here stood with her lips placed delicately on his. He felt stiff under her touch and with each twitch she could feel the scars decorating the corner of his mouth. She began to feel awkward in the embrace as she slightly moved her head so their noses were no longer bumping together. He stood still as she lowered her feet back to the ground so she was no longer standing on her tip toes and took a hasty step back, the full knowledge of what she had done slowly seeping it’s way inside her. She didn't see why people had considered that such a big deal, it didn't feel as special or as magical as it had been in those songs she had heard as a child. It was just flesh placed against flesh. Her shoulders slumped in disappointment as she truly realized everything she had believed growing up had really been a lie.

She could barely look him in the eye. He still stood still, unmoving, his eyes barely able to focus on her. He appeared as if she had struck him but she could see that he was deep in thought, processing their interaction similar to how she was. Stupidly, she felt a little insulted.

“I’m sorry, ser. I don’t know what came over me. Please forgive me.” She spoke quietly focusing her gaze straight forward on the dented armor of his chest. The Hound was a large and imposing man, much larger than any other person Sansa knew besides the Mountain. Sansa stood tall for a lady but next to him, she felt as if she had shrunk down to the size of her sister. Yet, in that moment, she desired nothing more than to join the blowing dust on the floor and float off into the sky away from the Hound’s demanding gaze.

Her eyes once more found his and in his gaze, she saw something similar to what she imagined a wolf would look like when eyeing it’s helpless prey. His eyes alone were enough to tie her stomach in uncomfortable knots and fill her with an indescribable feeling, something she could only compare to the desire of throwing up and laughing simultaneously. He began to approach her once more and she backed up instinctually, fully aware there was no where to turn to escape him. He continued to advance on her until her back was placed flat against the stone wall behind her. She gasped at the impact and his eyes darted to her mouth momentarily before returning back to her eyes. His large hands traced up her side sending goosebumps in their wake. Her breathing had turned erratic as his fingers traced over her chest then stopped at her neck, his large hand wrapping around her neck.

“Ser, please let me go.” She whimpered under his forceful gaze. She knew she could not escape the Hound, someone who could crush her with just the flick of his wrist or in her case, the tightening of his fingers. Using her remaining strength, she tore her eyes from his, his grasp on her neck tightening in response, not enough to hurt but enough for her to take notice of his strength over her. 

“You won’t look at me anymore, little bird? Do I scare you that much?” He growled against her, pressing harder into her body. She gasped as his armor bit into her skin and he laughed at her struggle. 

Sansa was having difficulty breathing. Her mind was racing from his close proximity. She could smell the alcohol on his breath and the overwhelmingly tangy, bitter fragrance emitted from the cold metal of his armor. He won’t hurt me. She focused her gaze once more on his breast plate reciting her meaningless words in her head. 

“Look at me.” He ground out from behind closed teeth. Impatiently, his rough fingers found her chin and pulled her eyes back to his. She could not believe this was happening, that the Hound had trapped her between him and a wall. More than that, she could not believe that just minutes ago, she had been the one to plant a kiss on his lips. All traces of the man she had seen before were gone. She focused on his good eye but could tell by his grunt and the sharper pain in her neck that he was once again displeased by her. 

She knew that he wanted her fear and pain, no he didn't want it, he desired it. She could not understand why but he did. Perhaps, he simply was putting up his shield to protect himself from her. Or perhaps he was just like his brother and Sansa had completely misjudged him. In that moment, all hopes of finding the Hound on her side dissipated like mist around them. She was still staring into his cold eyes and she raised her hand from her side to place over his on her neck. She began to brush his fingers with her fingertips silently coaxing him to release her from his grasp.

“Please.” She breathed. He watched her fingers trace over his with wordless intrigue.

“What did you think, girl?” He leaned closer to her, mouth twitching as he watched her pull back. “Did you think you could offer this dog a bone and he would serve you instead?” He laughed, throwing his head back as he did so as if the thought actually amused him.

“No, I wished to thank you and I thought that…” She began.

“What? You thought that that little nothing kiss would satisfy me?” He growled against her trailing his other hand up and down her arm. “If anything little bird, it’s only made me want more.” He whispered into her ear and she gasped loudly against the feel of his breath on her bare skin. He pulled back just enough to inspect her features and appeared delighted with whatever he found in her expression.

Sansa found herself reacting to the Hound’s words. Her cheeks were growing red and her skin felt as if every nerve had been switched on. She could feel him everywhere, the vibration of his voice, the hand trailing up and down her arm, his legs pressing into hers, his eyes boring into hers. Thoughts began to become spurred in her mind. She imagined what it would feel like for him to kiss her neck, her ear, her chest, her nipples… She was horrified by her own thoughts but she could not shake them off. She had heard of ladies finding solace in a man’s touch but from his kiss, she did not imagine these stories to be any more than just fiction.

Yet, she still could only think of his kiss on other parts of her body. Her lips parted on their own accord and she couldn't help the little pant that escaped from the deepest part of her being. She blushed and turned away, praying he hadn't heard whatever noise she had omitted.

“If I didn't know any better, I would say that my little bird was getting turned on.” His voice spoke clearly but watching his face, he wavered momentarily obviously just as surprised as she was. She didn't know what she was feeling, she could not put a name to it. Her womansplace had begun to tingle and the sensation made her want something, no need something, but she didn't know what. “I’m going to kiss you, girl. A real kiss, not one of those stupid kisses those cunts in your songs sing about.”

Unwilling excitement shot through her, her blood was pumping and her eyesight was fogging. She nodded. He let out a deep groan at her approval, but refused to budge. He disbelieved her own willingness. Sansa nodded more trying to convince him she wanted this, her mind was racing but her body was acting on it’s own accord. It knew what she needed and so did the Hound. She wanted to feel whatever the Hound was going to offer her, she needed to. It might be the last time she would possibly feel anything good before whatever her future held for her snatched it away from her gripping fingertips.

He continued to watch her and she found herself growing impatient. He was going to back out. She suspected that he would not have figured her to be a willing participant in whatever was happening between them.

I want this. She wasn't aware if she was trying to convince herself or the Hound but it didn't matter, not when he was standing so close and not when every nerve in her body was screaming for his touch.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him down once more into a kiss, pressing her lips much more firmly against his. He hesitated momentarily before releasing his hand round her neck and tucking it under her rump pulling her closer toward him. Finally giving in he kissing her back with such ferocity Sansa was taken aback by his urgency. His lips no longer felt stiff and she found a pleasant sensation occurred in her when he moved his lips against hers. She released a moan built up in her chest at the feeling of him. The vibration echoed between them both only spurring them further on.

Soon they found themselves clutching at each other, desperate to deepen the kiss and whatever was happening between them. Her eyes budged open when she felt the unexpected feeling of his tongue licking softly at her lips. No one had ever told her about kisses other than the simple pressing of lips to one another. Maybe those kisses were only from knights. The Hound had proven time after time he was no knight in her songs. As she gasped her surprise at his strange kiss, he took the opportunity to lightly trace her mouth with his tongue. Sansa could swear her heart would explode from behind her ribcage at any moment and worried momentarily that the Hound would be able to hear it. The fear that he would pull away at any moment to laugh at her forced her to tighten her grip on him.

Her worries were erased as he continued to taste her in the most delicious way. The new sensation caused her to momentarily lose feeling in her legs. She opened her mouth to his and the unexpected feeling of his tongue caressing hers exploded in her being. She tried to mimic his actions and brushed his tongue with hers cautiously. 

I must seem like a stupid little girl. Any moment he will pull away from me and he will tell Joffrey and I will really be the Hound’s bitch.

He only seemed to grow more excited at her timid responses to his touches. He pressed harder against her yet and took advantage of her vulnerable state to trace the underside of her left breast with his fingers. Her chest heaved against him, desperate for him to touch her more, to touch her with abandon. Never had she felt anything like this before or desired anything as much as she did in this moment. She hadn't even known people were capable of feeling whatever was taking over her body and mind in that moment. She moaned into his mouth and pressed harder against him, she needed friction, she needed harder contact with his body. She needed more of whatever he was giving her but she felt as if she couldn't swallow enough air. 

She pulled away for a moment to take a deep breath and he growled looking down on her before placing his lips to her neck, kissing and biting at the delicate skin he found there. She moaned loudly at the unexpected way his mouth caressed her skin. She shuddered against him and instinctually bucked against him. The feel of something hard against her womansplace caused her eyes to widen in surprise as a shot of pure pleasure spread throughout her entire being. He groaned against her neck before trailing his mouth up to her ear and biting slightly. Sansa cried out at the pain and pleasure that built up together and continued to rock against him, chasing whatever was building inside her from her movements.

“I want more… please” She begged, digging her nails into the hair at the base of his neck and tugging slightly wishing him to feel the same pain that she felt.

“Fuck” He groaned against her ear before placing his mouth once more on hers and kissing her. His tongue invaded her mouth and she could barely keep up with his rapid pace, clinging to him desperately, scared that once he let go, she would lose all feeling in her body and this delicious feeling he was causing would disappear. Her womansplace felt hot, and a mysterious wetness was growing there with each touch of his body onto hers. She let out an impatient sound and bucked against him harder, eager to feel that same spark as when she had ground herself on him before.

He pulled away from her and she let out a disappointed groan. His eyes were dark and they seemed to reflect the same hunger towards her that she felt for him. Slowly, he brought his hand from around her behind and brought it forward so it was resting on her upper thigh.

His hand delicately lifted layer from layer of her dress until he reached her smallclothes. She was watching him through hooded lids and in that moment, she was sure that she would have done anything he asked if he could only touch her. “Please” She whispered. Whatever he was doing, she needed more. Every nerve in her body felt like it was drawn tight and she wanted to feel his fingers on her most private place.

His hand untied the strings of her smallclothes and crept inside. His fingers parted the curls of her womansplace before lightly tracing the wetness within. Sansa cried out at his touch and bucked hard against his probing fingers, seeking to relieve herself against him.

“You’re so fucking wet for me.” He sounded like a man starved and traced over her again, slightly harder this time. It felt as if every part of her was lit on fire by this scarred man. His fingers reached the top of her slit and began to strum at her. She could barely contain the sounds escaping her body. This was the most intense feeling she had ever felt before caused by the most unexpected of people. This was greater than any pain ever inflicted on her. He slowed his rhythm, placing only his thumb over that bundle of nerves that was bringing her such pleasure. While she was distracted, he used his middle finger to slip inside her body. It felt too large inside her and her body stretched around the massive digit painfully. She whimpered against his intrusion and he halted his movement. He gave her time to adjust before he started to move his finger inside her once more, circling his thumb harder and faster as he did so. 

She was panting as he continued his onslaught on her body, every movement growing toward a more beautiful torture inside her. She could feel the pleasure rising in her body and she tensed as it grew and grew. Any moment whatever was building inside her would release. She gripped him with all her might. The Hound continued to stroke her clit with rough fingers and she tensed, finally exploding around his fingers and tightening around the one still inside of her. Her eyes found his as she rode out the bliss he had summoned in her. Her mouth was slightly open and the Hound continued to lightly circle her clit, allowing her to ride her orgasm out to it’s full potential. He watched her unfold before him before kissing her again, his tongue teasing her lips open to kiss her properly.

She lazily returned the kiss, licking his mouth with each stroke of her tongue. He pulled away and placed her on the ground. Pulling her dress down to cover her once more, he licked her off his fingers before turning around and walking away into the cool night air leaving Sansa with greater confusion than she had begun the day with.


	3. Rumors and Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is forced to deal with the repercussions of her interaction with the Hound and with Cersei’s questioning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy with all the comments and views of my story so far. I will continue updating, enjoy!

Sansa had barely slept that night. Her mind kept wandering back to her encounter with the Hound in the hall. How could she have been so stupid to have let him touch her, especially out in the open. Joffrey was already looking for any excuse to torture her. She had finally given him one, one that if anyone found out about would ensure her death. The Hound would never be able to protect her now, a dead man couldn't protect her. 

Sansa laughed aloud in the dark room. She had acted as a wanton woman would. A noble lady wouldn't beg a lowborn second son to touch her nor would she fall apart completely under his fingertips. She hadn't recognized the person she had become at his touch. Sansa had begged! Begged the Hound to touch her and when he had, she had been more than eager for his skilled touch.

Where had he even learned to do that? The Hound was known to visit many brothels. Perhaps he found his pleasure through her. But it had seemed he only had taken care of her pleasure. The Hound hadn't completed himself. Or at least she didn't think he had. Come to think of it, Sansa had no experience with this matter anyway. She had no idea if he did or not. Maybe he had used her for his own pleasure. Yet, if he had, she worried about how much she hadn't minded and how little she minded now. Her womansplace began to heat up once more at the memory of what he had done to her and Sansa’s cheeks began to become heated. She was no lady in the eyes of the gods. She threw herself onto her bed and willed herself to fall asleep and forget this day had ever happened. She willed herself to dream of brave knights and their fair maidens. Yet, all she saw in her dreams were scars.

****

Sansa had been summoned to break her fast with the Queen Regent that morning. Cersei had always prided herself on her ability to break down those around her. Sansa could barely remember the reason why she had looked up to Cersei, a woman who was so distraught in her own life she lived off the pain and suffering of others.

Sansa knew her tricks and knew Cersei’s actual plan was for that morning. To humiliate Sansa with the rumors of her and the Hound. She groaned and fell back into her bed, watching her evening with the Hound flash before her eyes.

Only they weren’t rumors anymore.

She knew what would happen to her if anyone were to find out about anything that occurred between her and the Hound and Sansa was determined for that to never be brought to light. She would have to be resilient today when talking with the queen. 

As much as she hated dealing with Joffrey, she hated Cersei more. Joffrey was easy to fool while his mother was much more perceptive when watching Sansa’s mannerisms and perceiving the real meanings behind her words. Sansa would have to rely on a respective silence when dining with the Queen.

Shae was brushing her hair as Sansa began to rehearse how she surely would discuss with Cersei the rumors surrounding her and the Hound. Sansa watched Shae’s concentrated expression as she attempted to style Sansa’s hair as she had requested. Sansa usually had to instruct her during the process.

“Shae, what does it look like when a man… well… finishes?” Sansa asked, pretending to focus on smoothing her dress in her chair to avoid the questionable gaze of her handmaiden.

“When he cums?” Sansa gasped at Shae’s blatant use of language. She had never met a woman as profane as Shae was and found it hard to ever get used to her way of speaking.

“Yes.” Sansa gulped before turning her eyes to Shae’s. Shae had stopped brushing her hair and appeared to be in deep thought. Sansa had begun to worry that her question was too inappropriate before Shae continued brushing and relayed her answer.

“Usually, it appears they are in pain. Their mouth can be open, eyes furrowed, sometimes closed. Sometimes they grunt in completion. Some men screech like little girls.” Shae laughed, seemingly remembering a personal experience.

“Would you say that it is easy to see the moment when he…?” Sansa was sure that Shae could see the guilt radiating off Sansa in droves. She wished that she could take her words back but Shae had always been reliable. And Sansa had no one else she could possibly talk to.

“I would say so. Sansa, is there something you want to tell me? A reason you are asking these questions?” Shae watched Sansa through the mirror causing Sansa to avert her eyes from her pensive gaze. Sansa knew that Shae now suspected her of something but she could not tell her. If anything, it would only put Shae in danger with her. She didn't want the only person she actually cared about in the capital to be punished for Sansa’s foolish and reckless behavior.

“I had only overheard the maids and their stories. I only wanted to ask.” Sansa spoke clearly and calmly, she was sure that Shae would not buy her excuse but Sansa also knew that Shae would not pry any further on the subject.

Once Sansa’s hair was done and put up in the Southern fashion, Sansa was collected by one of the kingsguard and escorted to the gardens. Sansa tried and failed to collect her nerves on her walk to meet the Queen. Cersei would surely find new ways to humiliate her. Sansa did not understand why the Queen hated her so. She had no interest in playing the stupid game of thrones that everyone was so insistent on playing. She only wanted to return home and never ever visit King’s Landing ever again. 

Cersei sat waiting for her under a shaded canopy among the blooming flowers. A lion among the roses. Although Sansa hated Cersei with all her being, Sansa did admire the Queen’s ability to effortlessly exude the essence of innocence and beauty. Sansa hoped one day to perfect her technique and use it to get revenge on every Lannister and Lannister man for what they had done to her family. Cersei smiled as she spied Sansa approach. Sansa could tell by the way Cersei waved her arm that she was already well into her cups. 

Not as effortless when she was drunk.

“Little dove, sit. Sit.” Sansa took a seat across from Cersei. Cersei’s cupbearer rushed to Sansa’s side and poured her cup full of the sickly sweet wine the Queen was always drinking. Sansa took a sip as the Queen spoke once more. “Don’t you look radiant today, you are a young beauty.” She slurred, her eyes unable to focus on Sansa for long. Sansa found that it was much easier to read the Queen when she was drinking.

“Thank you, your grace. You look lovely as well.” Sansa spoke with a sweet smile willing her cheeks to flush red at the Queen’s words. If there was one thing Sansa had to ensure, it was to make her enemies undermine her every action.

Cersei’s lips tugged at the corners but her eyes remained still and unfriendly. She huffed and tilted her glass signaling her cupbearer to fill her glass. “All the way up.” She clinked her glass at the young boy who had the displeasure of following her around all day with the sole purpose of filling his Queen’s wine. 

“Sansa, dear, I’m sure you are aware of the disgusting rumors going around about you and Sandor Clegane.” Cersei turned her attention toward Sansa once more, and spoke. Vile was clearly dripping from where she spoke of their affair. Sansa had been correct in her assumptions of why Cersei would want to speak with her although she hadn't been expecting her to confront her so early in their meeting.

Sansa composed herself and plucked a grape off of it’s vine. Plopping it into her mouth, she spoke “Your grace, these are disgusting rumors and completely untrue. I feel such shame for bringing such a disgusting rumor to taint the crown.” Sansa recited as if reading a boring play. The Queen let out a sound at the back of her throat, clearly unimpressed by her answer. Cersei was looking to prod and poke at Sansa’s displeasure and to feed off of her misery. Sansa refused to give Cersei anything.

“How do you believe that these rumors started? So strange that they would just spark wildfire out of nowhere.” Cersei made sure to coat her last words with malice. Sansa knew that the Queen was aware of where these rumors had started, she had to also be aware that she and her disgusting son were the reason they had begun. If they had not been willing to sacrifice Sansa’s life during the bread riots, they would never have found any ground to begin. Sansa had been left to die with no help from the Lannisters, the only one who had deemed her worth living was the Hound.

“Forgive me, your grace. I am just as confused as to their origin as you are. I can assure you I have done no such action to ignite these rumors. But even your grace must understand how these ridiculous rumors can be fabricated, how disgusting and false gossip can follow one around regardless of their innocence.” Sansa had heard the rumors of Cersei and her brother, Jaime. She was sure everyone had heard this rumor, it was the most popular piece of gossip in the kingdom. She had little care if it any of it was true but the way that Cersei swallowed and stabbed her cheese, Sansa assumed that it held great truth.

Cersei took a long drink before continuing, “Be sure, little dove, that if any of what they say is true, you will be dealt with accordingly as a traitor to King Joffrey. You will be examined once more for your innocence and purity.” Cersei spat out before standing abruptly and walking briskly back to the Red Keep. Sansa was left to weigh the words that the Queen had spoke to her.

****

Shortly after Sansa had returned to her chambers from her meeting with the Queen, she was visited by one of the crown’s septas. Humiliated, Sansa had been told to lay back as the Septa pulled up her dress and removed her small clothes.

Sansa had watched the ceiling, tears building at the corners of her eyes as the septa prodded at her womansplace. She held her breath praying that the Hound had not claimed her maidenhead with his fingers. The intrusion had been painful but she had not bled from the experience. It had been only a few moments but Sansa could have sworn it had been a lifetime before the septa found what she was looking for and instructed Sansa that she could sit back up.

“You are still pure, my lady. The King will be pleased.” The septa smiled warmly at her and Sansa returned her fake smile.

“I am so happy that his grace will be pleased by the news.” The septa collected her things and left her finally. Sansa found herself thankful that Joffrey had not insisted on being there to inspect her womansplace over the septa’s shoulder. He would surely have brought Meryn Trant and the rest of the kingsguard with him. Joffrey perhaps would have let Meryn inspect her himself. Tears escaped Sansa’s eyes at the thought of that monster touching her most private area. She was thankful once more that Joffrey was not here, he would surely laugh at her tears and at her humiliation.

Sansa began to wonder if Joffrey would have brought the Hound with him. If Joffrey or Meryn had inspected her themselves, Sansa found herself pondering if the Hound would have let them touch her. Surely, she thought so. After all, he was still the King’s dog and she was only the stupid girl wandering the castle waiting to be saved.


	4. Lessons Must Be Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joffrey comes to Sansa’s chambers and insists she must receive her punishments.

It had been at least a fortnight since Sansa had been inspected by the septa. Word had travelled quickly through the kingdom of her intact innocence and Sansa had felt relief. Joffrey had fewer reasons to seek her out and when he had, her usual punishment was not as severe. She was able to sleep a little more soundly at night. The gossip surrounding her and the Hound had died in return, allowing Sansa to once more return to the shadows and maneuver silently through her day as she had done before.

Sansa had seen the Hound more frequently than she had ever remembered. She found herself passing him in the godswood, on the ways to meals, even on her occasional strolls through the gardens. Each interaction between them had consisted of darting glances and the occasional blush on her side. Sansa found it of extreme difficulty to maintain her composure around him, especially when she was not accompanied by the other ladies of the court. 

One evening when Sansa had been walking back to her chambers after meeting with the maester concerning her moonblood, she had come across the Hound among a dimly lit corridor. He had been sitting on a bench inspecting his sword. Sansa watched the way he stroked the glimmering metal, his grasp on it delicate for a man with such large fingers. He seemed much more relaxed in this moment than she had ever seen him before, yet it was short lived. The Hound had looked up as she had gotten closer to him, his expression turning stern and tense as if he were displeased to see her before him.

“How are you this evening, ser?” Sansa had smiled toward him, trying her best to lighten the tense air between them.

The Hound had peered at her as if she had grown a second head and she found herself patting her hair down, unsure if she appeared unsightly. When he returned his attention back toward his sword in his lap, Sansa continued once more refusing to give up just yet, “I wanted to say…”

“Quit your chirping, girl.” He had snapped at her. At once, he stood. Sheathing his sword, he turned to look at her momentarily before storming off down the corridor. Sansa had been left staring like a fool at his retreating form. Straightening her spine, she stood tall before proceeding. The opposite direction. 

Sansa hated when he referred to her as “girl”, it made her feel like a child. She was a woman grown, fully blossomed and yet he treated her as if she were still a babe suckling at her mother’s teat. Sansa found it hard to consider how he could call her a “girl” yet he had been able to touch her as she assumed a man did toward a woman.

At night, Sansa found herself immersed in dreams of him. Dreams where he touched her as he had before, dreams where he kissed her, dreams where he had promised to take her away. She would usually wake sweating and wanting, feeling a strange emptiness deep inside of her. She was unsure where this desire for the Hound had come from but now it was all consuming, she could barely go a few minutes without thinking of him. She knew she should be repulsed by him, by who he was but she could not convince herself enough. Her strange attraction to the Hound was only growing.

****

Sansa had heard through rumors that her brother Robb’s army was growing in capacity. Everyone in the capital was becoming agitated as new word of her brother’s expanding successes in war reached the kingdom. 

Sansa was upset with her brother, he had seemed to have forgotten why he had even begun the war. Her father was dead, she hadn’t seen Arya since before his execution, yet Sansa still remained a prisoner in King’s Landing. It seemed to her that Robb could not care less for the safe return of his sister, he only cared to advance his military to battle.

The possibility that Sansa would die in the capital only grew more likely with each passing day. Death would be her true escape from Joffrey. If she were to marry Joffrey, she would end her life before she would ever be his. She would never live under him as his wife.

Joffrey had taken to visiting Sansa’s corridors most nights accompanied by a small number of his kingsguard. Meryn Trant would always lead the forces inside followed by Joffrey. The Hound would never be there, she noticed. She wondered on whose accord that was because of. Joffrey would taunt her of her brother’s looming death at his hands. He truly believed he would be the one to swing the sword to end her brother’s life. Sometimes, Meryn would strike her, not enough to cause her to bleed but enough to bruise. Oddly, Joffrey had not ordered her to be hit any more than that. She knew that if it were up to Joffrey, he would allow her to beat to a pulp but something was holding him back. That made her feel even more worried.

As Meryn Trant opened her door, Joffrey greeted her with a toothy smile. She had once swooned for that particular smile but now, all she felt was sick to her stomach. He was wearing a golden robe with blue embroidered flowers sewn delicately into the stitching. A brown velvet sash crossed his chest ending at his side where he kept his sword tucked into it’s holster. For decoration, Sansa knew, for he had most likely never used it a day in his life. Joffrey breezed past Meryn, his sleeves flaring with each movement, and reached for Sansa’s hands grasping them tightly in his own. Sansa met his cold eyes with hers and smiled warmly with her practiced gaze of nobility.

“Your grace, what do I owe to be granted the pleasure of your company for yet another night?” Sansa bowed awkwardly before him as her hands were still wrapped in his. Joffrey withdrew his fingers from hers and Sansa’s arms returned to her sides. She was grateful he had stopped touching her, she would have to wash once more before the day’s end.

Sansa eyes followed the King as he stepped around her and walked through her room, seemingly inspecting it. The doll her father had given her days before his beheading was picked up and thrown onto the floor behind him. Sansa watched it hit the floor, flinching as the last thing she had of her father was disregarded by Joffrey’s prying gaze. He ran a hand through the dresses in her closet and even picked up the hairbrush placed before the mirror. Sansa couldn't help the confused expression that coated her face at his actions. The air in the room suddenly changed as he pivoted his footing and met her eyes once again.   
“Meryn, send for my dog.” Joffrey waved him off and just as quickly as he had spoken, Ser Meryn was gone. Sansa’s lips parted. She sucked a large gulp of air down her throat. The need to sit down overwhelmed her but she fought it even as her knees buckled. 

He couldn't know, could he? Sansa had been reckless, she had been stupid to do what she had done with the Hound. Joffrey would surely kill her.

“We have treated you very nicely, Lady Sansa, for a traitor’s daughter and a traitor’s sister.” Joffrey traced a finger along the ledge of the fireplace. He inspected it before wiping away the dust between his fingertips.

She nodded furiously, “Of course, your grace. Too well for a traitor’s daughter.” She added. In her flurry of panic, she hadn’t realized her body had become so tense. Joffrey had come to inspect her, she realized and here she stood, reflecting her guilty conscious and falling right into his trap. She willed herself to relax her posture yet still focused on maintaining a sense innocence and fragility. Sansa had found from her many interactions with Joffrey that he enjoyed feeding off her pain. Consequently, he also did not enjoy her happiness. Sansa forced herself to become unreadable and impassive to the King’s actions, it was best to keep her true feelings hidden deep within her.

“Your brother continues his march on the capital. Him and your traitor mother’s heads will decorate my wall. You know that, right Sansa?” A protest threatened to break past Sansa’s lips at his words. But who would that help? He reached out to her and delicately drew his knuckles across her cheek. He was waiting for her to move but Sansa would not lean away, no matter how unwelcome his touch would be. She had learned this the hard way.

“Yes, your grace. They will be lovely decorations amongst your chambers.” 

“Oh, no Sansa, they will not be adorned in my chambers.” He leaned forward until she could feel his breath along her ear, “But in yours, my lady.”

Sansa bit her tongue. How dare he say these disgusting things to her. Curious enough, Sansa found herself uncaring of his grotesque words. She knew Robb and mother would never die at Joffrey’s hands. This gave her peace in her response, “I await the day, your grace.” She smiled her best smile, the one where even her eyes glowed as well.

Joffrey’s eyebrows furrowed together in frustration. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, there was a loud knock on her chamber door. All evidence of Joffrey’s displeasure melted away at the sound and he smiled gleefully once more.

Ser Meryn opened the door and stepped through, the sounds of clinking metal following behind him. Sansa watched the Hound enter her chambers, his eyes flashing to hers before looking to Joffrey for further instruction. As he walked across the room, Sansa noticed his scars were enunciated in the light of the torches, he looked scary under this lighting. And not for the first time she wondered how different his life would have been if his brother had never inflicted that inhumane torture on him. His armor clinked and clanked as he came to a halt before the boy-king. The Hound looked massive next to Joffrey and Joffrey in turn appeared foolish next to him.

Did the Hound know why they had both been summoned to her room? Joffrey would not punish the Hound for his part, she knew that. It would all be placed upon her shoulders and Joffrey would punish her accordingly. She would not be killed as she was the only pawn that could control her brother’s movements but that didn't mean what they did to her wouldn't hurt.

“Hound, doesn't my lady look lovely tonight?” Sansa was unsure of what Joffrey intended to happen. But she knew for whatever was about to happen, she would surely not leave the night unscathed. The Hound let out an affirmative grunt in response to Joffrey’s question. He kept his face unwavering and his eyes trained forward. Joffrey was evidently upset by the Hound’s lack of well… anything but continued on, directing his words toward Sansa.

Joffrey clasped his hands together, “Lady Sansa, how would you feel about my Hound taking a turn with you tonight? I do believe Ser Meryn deserves a break for the evening. And my hound could definitely use the exercise.” Joffrey patted the Hound on the back, admiring his strength. Sansa’s gaze flicked over to the Hound but he remained still and unfazed by his new assignment. Taking a deep breath, Sansa swallowed her fear and spoke.

“Whatever your grace decides is proper.” Joffrey scoffed at her response. He was evidently annoyed at her lack of fear.

“Hound, beat fear into my lady.” The Hound took a step forward and finally he met her eyes. He was completely vacant. There was no sign of the man she had encountered outside of her room, no sign of the passion or any sign of emotion other than the constant annoyance the Hound wore on his face at all times. He stopped in front of her and Sansa met his stare dead on, refusing to back down. She was tired of being seen as weak and fragile, it only egged Joffrey on. He would no longer be able to break her anymore. She could do little to stop him but Sansa did hold power over herself. 

“Go on, Hound.” Joffrey chided on. Yet, the Hound remained still. His eyes had not left hers and still, he made no effort to advance on her. Sansa was sure her face wore the confusion she was experiencing. Even the Hound seemed confused by his own unwillingness. 

“Hound!” A screech from behind her echoed the otherwise quiet room. He had not budged at Joffrey’s call. He still continued to watch her. If the Hound did not strike her soon, she would be condemned to a fate much worse at someone else’s hand. Sansa pleaded with him through her eyes. She hoped he would be able to understand what she was asking of him. The sooner he complied, the sooner it would all be done.

He made to look as if he would turn away before his arm outstretched and his palm collided with her cheek. The strength of the blow was enough to send her tumbling to the floor, pain blossoming in her behind from the sudden impact. She clutched at her throbbing cheek but made no attempt to look anymore toward the Hound, Joffrey would be displeased. He might even consider her seeking comfort in the Hound. Instead, Sansa kept her eyes downturned and unfocused. Joffrey would most likely already be upset by the Hound not following his immediate orders. 

Sansa pushed herself off the floor and wiped at her dress before standing straight, staring at those who found joy in her pain. She hoped her expression reflected the building steel on the inside. She would not cower as Joffrey expected. The room had become deathly silent at her unusual behavior, the only sound she could hear was the blood pumping in her ears. Resilience was what Starks were made of. In her remaining days, she would remember the strength of her family.

She watched the Hound’s mouth part slightly before Joffrey quickly pushed him out of the way and gave her a hard shove. Sansa fell once more to the floor, the crack of her shoulder pushing an audible grunt out of her chest. Joffrey turned his head and gave a single glare toward the Hound.

“It seems to me that the Hound doesn't want to follow his King’s orders. Why would that be, Lady Sansa?” The sneer that escaped Joffrey’s lips made Sansa’s stomach curdle as if she had drank sour milk. Sansa kept her lips sealed and watched him grow impatient by her refusal to participate in his games. Just as Joffrey began to advance on Sansa once more, the Hound spoke, immediately halting Joffrey.

“Without the fucking, there’s no fun in it.” The Hound spoke. Sansa thought she could hear bitterness coating his words but she hoped Joffrey would accept and think no more of their underlying meaning. As quickly as the Hound had spoken, Joffrey threw back his head and let out a roaring laugh. Sansa supposed Joffrey admired the Hound’s bluntness. And as much as she didn't care what Joffrey thought of her, she let out a breath of relief that her relationship with the Hound was no longer being questioned.

“Well put, Hound.” Joffrey turned and signaled toward Meryn. With a simple nod of his head, Meryn began to step toward Sansa. Sansa watched him approach her as she was still sitting on the floor beneath all three men who stared down at her. Meryn raised his foot and gave her a hard kick pushing Sansa onto her side. Sansa was used to this part. She knew soon Joffrey would grow bored and she would grow numb and he would order Meryn to stop beating her. Sansa had little care for who he moved on to next as long as she would be left alone. 

Meryn reached for his sword and Sansa knew he would use the golden hilt to deliver the punishing blow to her abdomen. She should feel fear but yet she had an odd feeling of just wishing it to be over. Her body relaxed as she awaited the inevitable pain.

Meryn did kick, hard. The force of his sword colliding with her mid region had her gagging at first contact. She felt bile rise in her throat and she fought the urge to spill her stomach onto the hard stone floor.

Blow after blow, he continued and continued. Her mind began to drift as her body grew numb from the pain. She found herself remembering the day in the throne room when the Hound had wrapped his cloak around her after Meryn had delivered a similar punishment to her at the King’s orders. Yet, she could barely remember the pain or the humiliation she suffered that day. Her fingers clutched at her dress, and she remembered the weight of the Hound’s cloak when he had wrapped it around her. The smell of alcohol and a scent that was so him had filled her nostrils and she had calmed immediately before being escorted out of the throne room. She was still so unsure as to why she had felt solace in the Hound’s presence. 

“Enough,” A voice boomed through the room drawing Sansa out of her thoughts. Sansa’s eyes widened as she looked upon the Hound who was staring at her. His gaze seemed pained and tense as if he were fighting a battle within. Sansa was sure she looked pathetic spread along the floor clutching at herself, desperate to protect her body from any continued harm. Yet the Hound seemed initially unaware that he had even spoken out loud and Sansa watched him in his final attempt to save both of their skins. He regained his composure, “It is getting late, your mother should be expecting your presence by now.” The air in the room was still tense and it seemed everyone was unsure of how to proceed, especially Joffrey.

But it was still Joffrey who spoke, “You are right. We shouldn't keep my lady mother waiting any longer.” He brushed his fingers down his long robe, straightening out the wrinkled fabric. Sansa imagined in the process he was also trying to recompose himself, not just the material. 

Joffrey quickly strode out of the room followed by Meryn Trant. The Hound exited last but before he closed the door behind him, his eyes found hers a last time. But as quickly as he had, he was gone.

****

Sansa could not sleep that night. She was growing tired of tossing and turning. What had happened that day continued to replay before her eyes and with each play, Sansa grew more unsure of what had actually happened. The longer she thought about it, the more bold she became.

Sansa pulled herself from her bed and quickly threw a sleeping robe around her shoulders before retreating from the safety of her room. She knew where the Hound slept and before she could even process what she planned to do, she was standing outside his door, her hand slightly raised preparing to knock on the old wood. 

She knocked lightly, the power and boldness she felt a moment ago began to dissipate. A minute passed by and Sansa began to think her actions foolish. The actual realization of where she was and who she was seeking hit her like a rock. Just as she was about to turn away from the door, it swung open. There before her stood the Hound, shirtless wearing only his briefs.

She opened her mouth to speak but all she could let out was a small gasp before the Hound pulled her into his room, slamming the door behind them both.


	5. The Truth Must Be Told

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa goes to see the Hound in his chambers. To thank him or for something else? Sansa's not so sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy with all the positive feedback I am receiving with this story. I couldn't wait to post this chapter, enjoy! ;)

Sansa was slammed against the wall next to the door, the impact squeezing the remaining air out of her chest. Yet, all she could focus on was the Hound’s heavy breathing and the wild beating of her heart under her dress. The anger in his eyes almost scorched her and his fingers tightened around her arms. They were likely to bruise. But his eyes held so much anger and bewilderment and something else that made Sansa’s breathing halt. It was the same look he had given her the day she had kissed him.

The Hound began to shake her, pulling her out of her thoughts and back into the room they both stood in alone. Alone, Sansa’s breathing was shallow.

“You trying to get us both killed, girl?” He growled at her, his entire being was tense. With the fire in his eyes, he appeared to want to hit something. Sansa hoped it wouldn't be her, he had saved her after all from Joffrey.

“No! I’m not! Stop calling me “girl”, I’m not a little girl.” She had shot back at his cruel words. Sansa prayed that he would speak to her with less malice if she proved to him that she had fight in her as well.

It appeared to at least stop the Hound in his movements. He seemed initially taken aback by her sudden outburst but then, he seemed even angrier than before. “No, you’re not a little girl. You’re a little bird, even worse than a little girl. You chirp your pretty little songs, fly around your pretty little castle, and wait for your pretty little damn florian to save you. I won’t be your florian. You’re trapped, little bird. You know it, I know it, everybody fucking knows it. So the little bird doesn't want to be a little girl anymore, fine, she will be the trapped bird. Is that what you want?” He wanted her fear but Sansa wouldn't give it to him. It would never get her what she truly wanted. She needed to show him that he was wrong, she was so much more than just a little bird accepting life in her cage.

“Stop telling me what I want. You have no idea what I want.” She spoke quickly. Her teeth were bared behind her words. She could barely contain the rage that was fueled by the Hound’s words. With each passing moment, it felt as if the air between them had been suffocated from the room. He would never believe what she was asking for until she actually said it, perhaps not even then. “I know what I want.” Her hushed tone forced a small grunt from the Hound’s lips. He pushed away from her and backed to the other side of the room until his back hit wall. His body was so large, even without his armor. Black course hair traced his chest leading down to his trousers. She noticed an unmistakable bulge there before she snapped her eyes back to his, cheeks flushed slightly at the little knowledge she had of what men looked like when they were excited. From what she could tell, the Hound seemed very excited.

She approached him once more, desperate to close the distance between them. He watched her near him and Sansa found her body reacting the same way it had before when he had kissed her, properly, he had insisted that day.

“You don't want me, little bird. You don't want a scarred old hound.” He forced the words out of his throat. He appeared bewildered in his response as if the very idea of someone finding him desirable was laughable. She found herself unable to answer him so she reached out to touch his cheek, his burned one. It was rough against her soft fingers. Sansa curiously traced the ridges and dips before meeting the Hound’s eyes again. He was watching her with desire in his eyes as well, she could feel it.

“But I do.” She had barely gotten the words out before he had closed the remaining space between them and kissed her, hard. Sansa’s eyes had widened in surprise before she found herself melting into him. His lips pressed against hers to deliver a punishing kiss, as if he were trying to turn her off him. She pressed firmly against him in an effort to deepen it. She would not let him go this time. Her tongue teased his mouth open and she felt his responsive growl deep in her core. 

The Hound had switched their positions so that she was once again pressed hard against the wall. His large body leaning into hers as she felt his all-consuming mouth return to hers. Sansa found herself clutching at him, her hands settling to firmly wrap around his head. Each movement had her wishing she could be closer to this man and she let out a sigh of frustration. He heard her cry as his hands traced down her body lifting her up against the wall in order to bring her level to him. She instinctively wrapped her legs around his torso, her dress bunching up in the process. It was easier this way for Sansa to kiss him without his armor. His warm torso pressing against hers sent her mind running wild. Sansa reached for her own dress ties and began to pull at them. She wanted him to see her, all of her. He had pulled away from her then and watched her hand’s movements with eager eyes. She was mesmerized by the way he watched her and her hands began to tingle from his heated expression. 

She had just gotten the first row untied before his large hand halted her slow descent. He appeared to be deep in thought but she didn't want him to overthink what was happening between them, she just wanted more. 

“You don't have to—“ Sansa stopped his words with her lips, in an attempt to forget the deadly consequences of their actions. He had stood stiff before he kissed her back. She found herself smiling at his response. His hands released hers and she continued to untie her dress as his mouth ravaged her. His lips were so warm against hers, he was just so warm everywhere. His tongue played against hers and his lips continued to bruise her own in the most delicious way. Sansa was becoming aware of his hardened manhood pressed against her womansplace, just the material of her dress and his trousers separating them. She bucked against him, the sensations made her feel as if her body would catch fire.

He tore his mouth from hers and just as she was about to voice her protest, he lifted her and threw her down onto his bed. It creaked under her sudden weight. It was much more uncomfortable than her feather bed but in that moment, she could have cared less. He could have tossed her onto a pile of hay if he had wanted. The Hound watched her spread on his bed, hunger reflecting in his gaze. Her hair was surely tousled, her lips felt swollen, and her legs were slightly parted due to the constricting nature of her dress. Yet, the state of her only seemed to drive the Hound mad. His hand lightly palmed his hardening manhood and Sansa watched on, her mouth salivating at the sight.

His large body crawled on top of hers and Sansa was sure his weight would crush her but he rested most of it on his elbows along each side of her body. The Hound brought his lips to her neck and nipped at the tender skin. Sansa cried out as he continued his movements. His teeth lightly bit her before replacing their hunger with a tender kiss. He had moved his hand along her body and his mouth followed the trail. He descended downward with his kisses, her dress separating the much needed contact. He didn't stop until he had reached her womansplace. Sansa watched him travel down her body and in her need, her chest was expanding and deflating at a rapid pace. Sansa gasped loudly as his hands lifted her dress up and he began to untie the ribbons of her smallclothes. Once he had gotten them undone, Sansa lifted her hips in an effort to help him take the unneeded fabric off her skin.

Sansa could feel how wet she was under the Hound’s watchful gaze. She was only growing wetter with the expectation of his fingers placed once more on her folds. His head leaned forward until he was staring directly into her private place. As confident as she was in this decision, she still felt slightly embarrassed by his watchful gaze. Tense moments passed by and Sansa began to grow confused as to what he was going to do before his eyes flicked to hers and his tongue lightly stroked the swollen, wet flesh. The noise Sansa let out was completely primal as she found her fists grasping desperately at the sheets of the bed. His tongue traced up and down her slit, circling the bundle of nerves at the top but never actually touching.

Sansa let out gasp after gasp as his tongue continued tracing her. He sucked lightly on her clit and Sansa threw her head back at the sensations created from his simple movements. The addition of his finger pushing inside her had Sansa squirming under his touch, she wasn't sure if she was trying to have him increase his tempo or to pull back from his overstimulating caress. His finger curled inside her and Sansa was lost. Her fingers released the bed and she tightened them in his hair in an attempt to increase the feelings he was summoning inside her. He groaned against her and the vibrations he made only increased her pleasure. She could feel a pressure deep inside her was about to surface at any moment, she began to grind her hips against his mouth chasing whatever was about to happen. His tongue travelled up toward her clit and sucked harder this time. Her eyes shot open as she felt herself erupt as wave after wave of pleasure spread through her. She could barely remember her name in that moment, the only thing that existed to her was the Hound and whatever he brought out inside of her. Her fingers clutched at his hair as he continued to lick until she had to push his torturous tongue away, too sensitive for him to continue.

In the aftermath of her pleasure,Sansa became aware that the Hound was shifting his weight from hers and the bed creaked in objection. He made as if to lift his body off of hers but her hand reached out to his wrist, stopping him. She didn't want him to leave her again. “What are you doing?” She asked him, unable to reign the worry in her voice.

“Getting up so you can leave.” He could barely look at her. Sansa felt insulted from his sudden anger toward her once more. She knew what was supposed to happen in the bedroom between a man and a woman. No one had told her of what the Hound had done to her. She wanted to give him all of her. Her hands reached up to the slightly untied laces of her dresses and began to undo them so she could remove the disgusting Lannister clothes from her body. She didn't want to wear them with him, they were both trapped in King’s Landing.

He watched her hands work at the ties. “I don't want to leave. I want you.” She spoke as she had undone the last ribbon of her dress. She unceremoniously ripped the fabric from her and threw it into a pile on the floor leaving her only in a corset and smallclothes that covered her breasts. He carefully watched her movements before sighing loudly.

“They will kill you, little bird. I won’t have you die just to satisfy me.”

“I will die either way. I want you, Sandor, please.” It was the first time she had ever spoken his name aloud. He stared at her, seemingly seeing her for the first time. She hoped it was enough to allow his attentions to return to her in the moment. They could deal with whatever happened afterward at a later time.

“It will hurt.” He spoke quietly. She had removed her corset and for the first time that night, she could feel herself breathe. Her smallclothes followed after. She sat on his bed completely naked, the fire inside her growing stronger with each passing moment.

“I don’t care.” She reached out to touch him. She reached for his hand and brought it toward her small breast. His fingers hesitated before encircling her teat, his thumb running over her hardened nipple. Sansa moaned at his touch and his eyes flicked back to hers before placing his palm against her chest lowering her back onto the bed. He stood from the bed and began to fumble with the laces of his breeches. In the faint light, Sansa could barely see his movements. All she could see was Sandor’s eyes that were trained on hers. She continued to watch him, unsure of whatever he would unleash from his trousers. His manhood sprang forward, bobbing slightly as he pulled his trousers all the way off. Sansa had never seen anything like Sandor’s manhood. It seemed large and imposing and much too big. Sansa wondered how it would ever fit inside her, she couldn't possibly accommodate it. 

He crawled over her body until they were face to face again. “Are you sure?” He spoke as he lowered his mouth to her neck, to suck on the flesh he found there. She could barely think when he did that. She could, however, feel his manhood twitch against her thigh, it was so hot against her skin. She nodded ferociously, she wanted him in every regard.

His hand trailed down her body, fingertips fluttering against her stomach sending goosebumps across her skin in it’s path. Sandor wrapped his hand around himself and she could feel him parting her curls with his manhood. It was much smoother than she had figured it would be as he traced up and down her womansplace, coating the head of his manhood in her juices. Sansa’s heart was pounding hard under her ribcage. He groaned against her neck before lining himself up with her and pushing inside in one hard thrust.

Sansa felt whatever barrier had been created inside her torn apart as Sandor filled her up entirely. There was definitely pain but it was not as bad as Sansa had been told by her septa and her mother. Perhaps most men did not take the time to ready the woman before. Just as she had begun to think the pain had faded inside her, he began to move sending more discomfort through her. It was painful but he was allowing her time to adjust to his massive size. He raised his head from her neck and watched her before pumping hard inside of her. Her lips parted and a gasp left her mouth as he began to move with more purpose. He lowered his head to hers and kissed her as he began to set a rhythm inside of her. 

It was becoming less and less painful and Sansa found that after a while, another sensation was replacing the pain similar to the feeling of when he put his fingers inside of her. He began to increase his tempo and with this renewed passion, Sansa found that if she angled her hips just right, his manhood stroked a spot inside her that curled her toes in response. She mewled her delight as he continued to make sure he rubbed the spot. Sandor reached for both of her legs and wrapped them around his torso. The new angle he hit inside her had her moaning in wild abandon. Sansa’s eyes shot open as he placed a hand over her mouth. She hadn't realized how loud she was being and she flushed at how reckless she had become with him. That was the last thing she needed, for Meryn Trant to open the door and see her being taken by the Hound.

As soon as he believed she had a hold over herself, he released his hand and continued pumping inside of her. She tucked her head into his neck and bit him, desperate to grip something with her mouth. He growled as her lips moved over his neck. She could feel his wild pulse beneath her touch and a strange feeling of satisfaction washed over her. He was vulnerable above her, for her, he trusted her in his own strange way. His thrusts became more erratic as she continued to bite at his neck. Sansa could feel the tension building inside her once more, she was close to releasing for him again. She felt her body grow taut against his as he sped his movements up even more. With a loud gasp, she tightened around his manhood as she found her second release of the night. Sansa could barely breathe as he continued moving inside of her. She was on the verge of passing out from the overwhelming pleasure Sandor was creating deep inside of her. With a long grunt, he found his pleasure inside her as well. She watched him above her, fascinated by the way his eyebrows furrowed in concentration and the way his mouth opened and closed as he let out choked words she could not make out. 

While he came down from his peak, he finally met her eyes with his. Sansa’s heart felt as if it would swell up from his stare. She found her eyes began to water from her happiness. As Sandor wiped away an abandon tear, Sansa found herself smiling at his welcome touch. She placed her hand over his and began to lightly trace her fingertips over his skin. At least Sansa had been correct before, death would be her true escape from Joffrey, but it would not be her death.


	6. The Mockingbird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa has an interesting chat with Littlefinger. She grows suspicious of his intentions but agrees to accompany him to the King’s feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody! Sorry I haven't been able to post much recently. I've been extremely busy with essays and tests for school. Enjoy the aftermath of the last chapter!;)

Sandor’s fingers were lightly placed along her side as she lay curled into him. He had fallen asleep some time ago but Sansa refused to let her dreams separate her from this moment for she knew she would have to return to her cage soon enough. Back to the reality of the world she lived in. But for now, she could lay with him in her escape where Joffrey would never find her.

Her head was placed in the crook of his arm and she listened attentively to his steady breathing. His deep breaths calmed her and she felt herself curl closer into him. He was so warm against her cold skin. She found herself running her fingers absentmindedly through the abundant and course hair that covered his muscled chest. Her fingers worked as a way to keep her tethered to the ground, to him. The consequences of what they had done had yet to truly wash over her. All she knew what that she was not ready to leave him and face reality just yet. She was not entirely sure she would be able to.

Yet what she had experienced with Sandor had made every moment of her torture under Joffrey’s hands surprisingly irrelevant. She let out a small puff of air, amused that the man before her had once terrified her. Sandor Clegane wasn't the Hound with her, not anymore.

Watching him sleep, he wore the most peaceful expression. His usual frown was hidden from sight and Sansa reached out a finger and lightly let it travel down his good cheek, marveling at how rough his skin felt under hers. She wished she could see him better but darkness had spread through the room. She was not sure how long they had been there. It could have been hours or minutes, she would not have been able to know. She would ask to see his scars the next time, how he had gotten them, why they painted his body. She wondered if the scars on her body intrigued him the same way. Most likely not, Sandor had been in and out of battle since he was a boy.

As light from the sunrise slowly seeped through his small window, she knew she had to leave. She carefully untangled herself from him and watched him momentarily in the faint daylight. She admired his strong body and the muscles that flexed as he reached for the body that had once been beside him. He let out a deep groan at the loss but thankfully, remained asleep. Sansa let out a deep breath as he drifted back into a peaceful slumber. She was relieved she had not woken him, she was not sure how he would treat her once awake. A deep part of her feared he would become distant and unkind to her as he had before. He had placed some sort of block around himself from others, one that he used especially against her.

She dressed in silence, and quietly unbarred the door. She prayed to the seven that no one would be wandering the halls so early in the morning before she quickly maneuvered through the cracked door and shut it once more behind her.

Sansa kept her head lowered as she walked back to her room. If anyone found her, she would speak the truth. She had become restless and had decided on a trip to the godswood to pray for the safety of her beloved Joffrey in his upcoming battles. No one would question the whims of the King’s silly bride.

Just as she reached her chambers, a small noise startled her and she stopped mid-step. She had been sure it had come from behind her yet peering down the corridor, she could see no one there, only the flickering torches that lined the hallway. Sansa opened her door and with a shake of her head closed it firmly behind her. She was sure it had only been her imagination.

****

Sansa had been avoiding Shae’s skeptical looks that morning. Sansa was more aware of the way she walked than she had ever been before and noticed the way it must appear to others. She couldn't help walking strange on their morning stroll through the gardens. Her womansplace felt sore and her legs felt stiff as if she had stretched all the muscles that held her up.

But she kept walking. The Queen had insisted that Sansa take walks every morning to keep her body fit and as a way to maintain her womanly curves. Joffrey would not wed a fat bride, the Queen had insisted eyeing her up and down. Sansa had stuffed lemon cakes into her mouth after the Queen had departed but had upheld her orders as each morning she and Shae take walks in order to avoid any suspicion of Sansa’s devoted love for the King. 

That morning had been no different than any other, yet Sansa found herself desiring to walk the rest of the way by herself. She had turned to dismiss Shae, ignoring the confused expression that spread along her handmaiden’s face. But she had followed her orders and turned to walk back to the Red Keep. Sansa continued on by herself.

Sansa stopped before a particular flower admiring the way the vibrant colors had caught her eye in the sun’s gaze. She drew her finger lightly over the soft petal, admiring how different it looked among the others. It’s color matched the crimson of her hair compared to the yellow of those in it’s bunch. She felt herself oddly drawn to it before a voice spoke from behind her, startling her in it’s presence.

“Golden begonias, my lady. Although it seems that a red intruder has found itself among them.” A creep travelled up her spine as she knew the voice before she even had to turn around. She had thought Petyr Baelish to have left King’s Landing days ago.

Sansa’s eyes remained on the red flower she had been admiring. He walked closer to her until he stood at her side, close enough that his shoulder brushed hers with each breath he took. He took her hand from her side and brought his lips toward the back of her palm placing a light kiss on her skin. She fought the impulse to snatch her wrist back from his unwelcome touch. Something about Lord Baelish did not sit well inside of Sansa.

“Lady Sansa.” He straightened his posture bringing his head level to hers. As she had grown, she noticed the subtle height difference between her and Lord Baelish. He stood shorter to her now and Sansa found herself adjusting her spine so she could maintain this small superiority to him. 

“Lord Baelish, what a pleasure to see you on such a lovely day.” Sansa feared Lord Baelish. He was one of the only ones who could see through her exterior. He seemed to be searching her expression for something, she was unsure what. 

Much to Sansa’s disgust, Littlefinger picked the flower she had admiring from the bunch and held it out to her. Sansa could have sworn the color dulled slightly in his fingers. His eyes reflected a shimmer of mischief and something she had seen in Sandor’s eyes once before. Collecting herself, she would be rude not to collect his strange gift. She accepted it gracefully clutching it to her chest as she smiled politely toward him.

“Thank you, my lord.” She pretended to further enjoy the flower in her fingers but all beauty had been destroyed as soon as Lord Baelish had reached for it.

“Tell me Sansa, are you attending the King’s feast tonight?” Joffrey had thrown four feasts in a sennight. Ever since Lord Tyrion had insisted that the crown was under a great debt to the Iron Bank, Joffrey had argued that the King should have every right he wanted. For the moment, Joffrey wanted feasts.

Sansa allowed her smile to widen on her face before speaking. “Yes, my King has so graciously called his loyal subjects to dine with him once more in the great hall.” Sansa knew Lord Baelish had every intention to ask her to accompany him to the feast and Sansa knew it would be improper to decline. 

“You must accompany me then, my lady.” 

“I would be honored, my lord. You must excuse me though, as I must get ready.” She could hear her voice momentarily waver and his suddenly rigid stance proved that he had as well.

She turned to leave before his palm came to a rest on her shoulder, halting her movements. “My lady, we must be careful of who we trust. It is so very easy to place trust in the wrong person’s hands, even if you believe them to be well intended.” She wasn't sure if he meant his words as a threat but Sansa could feel the way he spoke. His fingers had tightened on her shoulder into an uncomfortable grip before releasing altogether. He smiled at her once more before bowing and leaving her to think in the gardens. 

Lord Baelish knew something, that was certain. As Sansa made her way back to her chambers, she could not shake his words from her mind. Their meaning was rattling inside of her. If he were to know about her and Sandor she supposed he would not tell Joffrey about it if he hadn't already. No, Lord Baelish was too clever to give up valuable information. But what he did want, she had a feeling that she already knew. 

Shae had been insistent about getting Sansa dressed in time. Shae was not one to worry about proprieties and Sansa found herself wondering what had sparked the strange behavior. Did everyone know what had happened between her and Sandor? She figured that it was just her guilty conscious instructing her thoughts. Shae had insisted that Sansa wear a golden gown but Sansa knew better than that. Joffrey would find something wrong with her wearing his colors therefore, turning all of his attention toward her. She decided on a light brown gown with faint traces of purple embroidered into the seams. Sansa desired nothing more than to sit in the far back and blend in with the crowd. Although this would never happen, she was thankful that she would not be sitting next to Joffrey but in the table in front of his.

Sansa decided to leave her hair down in the northern fashion with only a small clip pinning the hairs that framed her face to the back of her head. Joffrey had little care for fashion and she hoped that she could slide by with this small nod to her family name. 

Lord Baelish had come to collect Sansa from her chambers and to escort her to the feast. Shae seemed very displeased with this arrangement but with a slight smile toward her handmaiden, Sansa watched her visibly relax a slight amount. He held out his arm for her and Sansa reluctantly latched on. He escorted her to the dining hall whispering compliments, sweet nothings, into her ear.

As they rounded the corner, she could see the feast had started well before she had arrived. There were lords and ladies adorning the hall. Each one smiled and laughed as they discussed amongst themselves. Joffrey appeared to be enjoying himself greatly as Ser Dontos, Joffrey’s new fool, pranced around the King dropping his hat in the exchange. Sansa watched him bend over to pick up the fallen item when Joffrey placed his boot on Ser Dontos’s backside giving a hard kick. Joffrey practically fell over with laughter as Ser Dontos lay stretched along the floor. 

Her eyes drifted to the right of the King where Sandor stood. Heat flushed to her cheeks as she realized he had watched her enter into the hall with Littlefinger. Sandor stood staring at her with fire in his eyes that seemed to scorch her entire being even from across the room. His gaze then flicked to Littlefinger who was busy admiring the feast paying no attention to the angry man eyeing him from afar. Sansa tried to catch his eyes once more in an attempt to explain but before she could, he returned his gaze lazily in front of him. Sandor was once more erased of any emotion.

Before she could pay any more attention his way, Littlefinger led her to her seat in the dining area. She perfectly overlooked Sandor but he still refused to meet her eyes. As she had continued watching him, Joffrey seemed to have sensed her presence for he stood and walked toward her, clapping his hands together in a noise that echoed through the hall. His movement sent silence in it’s wake and soon the only noise that could be heard was the sound of his boot hitting the pavement.

“Lady Sansa, would you honor me with a dance?” Joffrey stood in front of her and held out his hand. She hadn't expected this to happen but she quickly smiled at his affections and placed her hand in his clammy grip. He yanked her from her seat much to her dismay and Sansa struggled momentarily, quick to find her balance. 

He led her to the center of the room and with a simple nod of his head, music suddenly filled the chamber. She moved halfheartedly with him as he began to spin her around. She kept the smile that appeared to radiate from her firm on her face. He continued to lead her, the hand that was once on her hip was resting inappropriately on her backside. Still, Sansa maintained the composure of a lady. Her smile still lit her face and she hoped to all those around her that it seemed one of a lovestruck maiden. Joffrey, however, seemed displeased as he leaned toward her.

“You do not seem to enjoy dancing with me, my lady.” His grip on her backside tightened and Sansa fought the urge to grimace at his unkind touch. He was visibly irritated by the lack of fear that Sansa was exhibiting. If it were up to him, he would have her screaming and begging for her life at his feet in front of everyone in the dining hall. Sansa would not give him that enjoyment. No, she much rather enjoyed watching him appear more like a boy in front of her, one who was clearly about to throw a temper tantrum.

“Forgive me, your grace. I do so enjoy the pleasure of dancing with your grace.” Sansa spoke her words with a straightened posture. She would play her part in this game. Joffrey seemed momentarily stunned by her composure but he continued to dance with her, his movements faulting slightly. Suddenly, Joffrey’s eyes lit up causing Sansa’s stomach to rise in her throat. Whatever idea had flashed in his mind was one that greatly amused him.

He stopped dancing and pulled away from her. The music stopped and quiet murmurs filled the vacant silence of the room. It appeared she was not the only one unsure of Joffrey’s next moves.

“Perhaps,” His voice rang through the room, “Perhaps you will be more inclined to dance with a different partner. HOUND!”


	7. A Watchful Gaze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and the Hound dance! Sansa receives a surprising offer from Littlefinger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so pleased with all the positive feedback I am getting with this story! Enjoy the new chapter!

The murmurs that had filled the room died suddenly at Joffrey’s unexpected words. The gasp that slipped from Sansa’s mouth occupied the silence he had created. It seemed that Joffrey had found the one thing that could evoke emotion from Sansa without her control. Joffrey peered at her through pleased eyes, mischief gleaming from his heavy gaze. 

Sandor had yet to budge, his stiff frame remained stoic as he stared absentmindedly in front of him. Sansa could barely breathe but Sandor appeared uncaring and distant from everybody, including her.

“My lady, I think my dog should take a turn with you. A king always bestows his play things on his loyal servants.” He stepped close enough so only she could hear, “Better get used to pleasing my men, Sansa. I will let them fuck you until you bleed, after I am done with you of course.” 

Sansa was to be queen. Could this truly happen to her? Of course it could. Joffrey would never stop trying to hurt her and if that meant being brutally raped by every one of his soldiers, he would allow it to happen.

“Come, dog.” Sandor remained still. Hushed whispers fell over the crowd and Joffrey spoke louder, “Your master is calling you!”

Only then did Sandor’s eyes find the King’s. Sansa could only compare his gaze to that of a man with a crazed blood-thirst, one that seemed focused on Joffrey. His eyes alone were enough to make any man shiver in his boots and it appeared that Joffrey wasn't immune in his finely leathered ones. In a desperate attempt to regain control over his hound, he opened his mouth once more only to shut it quickly as Sandor finally made his way toward them.

Sansa released a large breath of air. She was unaware if she had been holding her breath for her or for Sandor but it seemed that Sandor knew just as well as she did that their lives were resting on compliance. Joffrey would surely kill Sandor if he did not dance with her. She did not even want to consider what would happen to her next.

Soon enough Sandor stood in front of Sansa, he appeared vacant but she knew what she was supposed to do and that was whatever Joffrey wished of her in that moment. She raised her arm in an attempt to settle on his body so they could dance. Sandor pulled back at her touch and Sansa felt herself blush like a fool at his obvious reluctance to be with her. She couldn't help it, it was not as if she was the one who had forced him to dance, she could not understand where this sudden hostility toward her had stemmed from. He seemed almost embarrassed as his eyes flicked from side to side. Could he even dance? Perhaps this dance was not meant to only embarrass her but to also embarrass Joffrey’s beloved dog.

Sansa raised her arm once more to rest on his shoulder. He allowed her this time. Due to her height, their placement was barely awkward at all. In fact, it almost seemed as if their height difference complimented their appearance together. She could feel his large hand trail her body momentarily before curling on her waist. Her skin prickled under his touch and Sansa found herself remembering what his hands had done to her before, she reddened furiously. Sansa hoped to any onlooker it would look like the blush of a maiden dancing with a knight, even though he was not a knight. She was sure no one would suspect their act of deviance.

“Dance!” Joffrey commanded. Sandor moved her suddenly and Sansa stumbled slightly, struggling to find her footing. They began to slowly move in rhythm to the hum of the harp. Sansa tried to pay no mind to Joffrey who had been circling them and closely observing the way they hung to each other. It appeared that he was searching for something and Sansa hoped with all her heart that he would not find what he was looking for.

In an attempt to collect herself, Sansa willed away the perverse thoughts that filled her mind and focused on her smile. She would smile as she had with Joffrey and she would dance as she had with Joffrey. She would appear as a puppet, following the strict instructions of the puppeteer. Sandor had not looked at her once, his eyes remained distant and his face appeared expressionless. He danced with agile and precise movements, Sansa had been surprised. He certainly wasn't the best dancer in the seven kingdoms but he moved much more gracefully than she had anticipated.

Sansa had shifted her gaze accidentally to Joffrey who stood just to the side of them, carefully watching her. She smiled brightly and he scowled, he was not happy. She quickly turned her gaze back to Sandor who still refused to look at her. Without her knowing, Sansa’s fingernails had dug into the skin by Sandor’s neck that was not covered by armor. She quickly relaxed her grip and as she did, his eyes snapped to hers.

Sansa was transfixed by what his stare held and she continued to dance. She was unsure if their intensity was what had caused her to clutch to him more fervently but she was sure that in that moment, the only thing that was holding her up were the dark brown eyes of Sandor Clegane. Her movements became more fluid as they continued to dance, their gaze never parting. She was unsure when the song had ended but Sandor seemed very aware as he immediately let her go and turned toward Joffrey, awaiting his next instruction by his master. 

Sansa faced Joffrey to see how her beloved King had reacted to the dance. To her surprise, he was smiling, a smile that reflected in his eyes. Sansa felt sweat pool at the back of her neck.

“My lady, you do appear enthused to have served as the Hound’s dance partner.” He spoke loudly, provoking laughter through the hall. She locked her eyes on the floor in an attempt to ignore the laughter that filled the hall because of her.

Sansa smiled as a lady should and spoke, “Thank you, your grace. Although, not nearly as much as I enjoy your grace as my dance partner.”

He grunted in response before returning quickly to his seat next to his mother, Sandor following closely behind. Cersei was smiling warmly as Joffrey sat but as soon as her eyes settled on Sansa, they reflected the true woman who hid behind the crown. Joffrey’s mood quickly turned joyous as his personal fool, Ser Dontos, began to attempt to juggle.

Sansa had returned to her spot besides Littlefinger. As soon as she had sat, he leaned toward her and brushed his knuckles lightly against her cloth-covered shoulder. “You danced beautifully, my lady, even with such a horrendous dance partner.” His breath tickled her earlobe and she felt the sudden urge to purge her empty stomach on the dinner table. Sansa knew that Littlefinger had been infatuated with her lady mother since before Sansa had been born. With her mother gone and Sansa here, Littlefinger seemed to be turning his attentions to her instead. It was revolting.

“Thank you, my lord.” She used the excuse of reaching for her spoon to escape his uncomfortable caress. Tasting the soup, she swallowed it down quickly. She had not eaten today besides a cup of tea that had been brought to her chambers by an overly fearful maid earlier in the morning. It had been much bitter than she was used to. She had tried to send it back but her maid had been very insistent that she drink all of it. 

Sandor stood still next to Joffrey, she internally willed him to look her way. Yet he kept his eyes trained on the party before him. Sansa was interrupted in her thoughts by Littlefinger who abruptly spoke, “Tell me, Sansa. Are you happy here?” Sansa could barely keep from choking on her soup. She thanked the loud music and cheering that distracted from her unladylike recovery. Thankfully, Joffrey was no longer concerned with her.

“Of course, my lord. No place could make me happier than being with my beloved Joffrey.” Sansa searched the faces of the people near her but no one seemed to be paying attention to her strange conversation with Littlefinger. She could not understand why he would ever possibly choose to talk to her about this in public. If he were offering to help her escape, his head would be on a spike just next to hers if they were caught.

“Yes, my lady. How foolish of me, I do beg your forgiveness.” He leaned back into his seat, seemingly forgetting the inappropriate matter they had been speaking of. Until he brought forward a different subject, “Sansa, I do love strolling through the gardens at midnight. The flowers under the moonlight are just breathtaking. You should take a walk one night yourself. Tonight, there is a full moon.”

Sansa picked up her goblet and took a long swallow. She was unsure if Littlefinger was setting up a proposition for a late night meeting between them. “Perhaps I will, my lord. Thank you for the advice.”

He placed his slightly wrinkled hand atop hers on the tablecloth prompting her to look at him once more, “Anything for you, Sansa. Anything.” Sansa’s mouth parted on it’s own and his gaze flicked to her lips before standing from the table and walking off to converse with the Queen Regent.

Sansa was unsure what her conversation with Littlefinger meant. She knew he was faithful to her mother and she wondered if that faithfulness applied to her as well. Perhaps, Littlefinger was doing this in a way to somehow earn her mother’s approval. Whatever prompted his betrayal to the crown, she could not decide if she should trust him. Would he actually help get her home to her mother and brothers? Or to find Arya? Not the first time she found herself wondering where Arya was, if she was even still alive. One thing she knew for certain was that Joffrey and Cersei had no knowledge of where she had disappeared to. She knew she had never gotten along with her sister very well but she cared little for the past. She would give anything to see Arya again.

Whatever Littlefinger offered to Sansa tonight, she knew she could not leave King’s Landing just yet. Sansa would not leave the capitol without putting an end to Joffrey’s reign once and for all.

****

The rest of the banquet passed without any more attention being placed on her. Sansa resided the rest of the night in her seat, becoming increasingly intoxicated as she drank her fill of wine. The taste was disgusting but Sansa found that it numbed every other part of her. Even as she continued to drink, she was relieved Joffrey did not further embarrass her that night. She surely would have given him something to laugh about at her drunken behavior. 

Sansa had been laying in her chambers for over three hours waiting for the moon to rise at it’s fullest. She had decided to meet Littlefinger and hear whatever he planned to offer her. When it finally had, she pulled on a dark colored cloak and cautiously made her way through the halls. There had been a few close encounters but most everyone she came across was drunk and no one paid any mind to a cloaked figure roaming through the night.

Sansa crept through the gardens and decided she would wait where Littlefinger had encountered her earlier. The begonias she had seen before looked dull to her eye yet, she still looked for the misplaced red one despite her knowledge that it had been plucked from the bush by none other than the man she had agreed to meet.

“Sansa” Her name was spoken with a breathy sigh. Littlefinger stood by her side once more and she drew her eyes down to look him head on.

“Lord Baelish.” Her voice sounded drawl even to her ears but she couldn't help it. He appeared to overlook her tone of voice and drew out his hand to place on her shoulder.

“Sansa, I wish to help you.” Sansa could feel her eyebrows tighten. How could he ever help her? They would surely never make it out of King’s Landing alive. “I will help you in your escape from King’s Landing. I have a boat waiting to depart as soon as I command. Come with me, sweetling. I can take you away from this life and give you the life you deserve.”

“You would return me to my family?” She was very aware he had not mentioned Winterfell once in his speech or her family. But she could not help but become excited at the very prospect of turning away from King’s Landing and never looking back.

“Whatever you wish, my sweetling.” He began to knead his thumb into her shoulder and brought his other hand to her cheek. He appeared to be leaning in and before Sansa could even register what was happening, he placed his cold wormy lips against hers. She stood unmoving, too surprised to do anything. But before she could respond, two large hands wrapped around her midsection and yanked her away from Littlefinger. Sansa could recognize the growl that filled the empty night from anywhere. 

Sandor stood in front of her now and from what she could see under the moonlight, the fire she had seen earlier in his eyes when she had walked into the banquet with Littlefinger had now consumed his entire being. He stood taut as a bowstring and appeared to be in an attempt to reel himself back. Anything that could set him off would result in Littlefinger’s death, she was sure of it.

“You fucking cunt, I have been waiting for you to fuck up, Baelish. By tomorrow, you won’t have the cock you had planned to fuck her with.” Sandor seemed to be holding himself back and Sansa placed her hand lightly on the chain that coated his arm. He pulled back immediately, a sour look overtaking his features as if he was truly disgusted by her touch. Sansa backed away from him, it appeared that Sandor could not control the anger that threatened to overtake him.

“You won't do anything, Clegane.” Sandor’s eyes snapped to Littlefinger.

Sandor had moved so quickly she had barely seen him go. All of a sudden, Sandor stood above Littlefinger with his large hand wrapped so tightly around his throat, Sansa was sure he would kill him.

“Oh, really?” He sneered. “Give me a reason why I shouldn't just squeeze, Baelish.”

Littlefinger could barely get any words out but he managed to choke out, “If I die, she dies too.” Sandor loosened his grip at that. He seemed to take in Littlefinger’s words, their consequences visibly rattling through his brain. Sansa could not figure out what Littlefinger could have possibly meant by that. “You know what happens—” Littlefinger started, in an attempt to continue.

“If any more words come pouring from your cunt mouth, I will cut your throat just to stop the noise.” Sandor’s hands were tightening around his neck. Littlefinger was in the process of turning purple.

Suddenly, Sandor released him altogether causing Littlefinger to fall forward, his knees slamming painfully on to the walkway. Sansa watched in shock as he tried to pull his breathing in check. His fingers lightly stroked the red marks that Sandor had left behind on his throat. Sansa found her own breathing shallow as she watched Sandor in front of her. Her own heavy breathing caused Sandor to snap his attention to her. “Go!” He gave her a shove forward. 

Sandor seemed to be waiting for her to begin walking back to the keep but her legs would not budge. She couldn't understand how he could possibly expect her to remember how to even use her legs!. “Move, girl!” She still didn't go.

“For fuck’s sake.” He breathed out before he picked her up and slung her over his shoulders. She let out a surprised gasp before her fists wrapped tightly into his tunic. He started his walk back to her chambers.


	8. Against a Rock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sandor confronts Sansa’s trust in Littlefinger and one thing leads to another…

Sansa could feel the vibrations of Sandor grumbling to himself as he continued to walk them toward the keep. His grip was firm on her to ensure she would she not fall and Sansa couldn't help but feel how high up his hand was placed on her thigh. She would've enjoyed his touch in any other situation but right now, all Sansa felt was worry and the sharp armor poking into her ribs. 

“Stop squirming, girl.” He spat out, adjusting her on his shoulder. He still didn't put her down.

“Please set me down. You will draw attention.” She hissed, her hand clanging on the armor that she could reach on his back. Sandor stopped moving at that and with a growl, set her down but he did not back away from her. If anything, she only felt that he was closer to her now.

“What were you doing with Littlefinger, girl!” He seemed to be getting closer to her and Sansa instinctually backed up. When she finally glanced up at him, he was sneering at her. All kindness she had once seen in his eyes had been drained completely. She clenched her fists together before stepping forward.

“Lord Baelish was offering me a proposition to leave King’s Landing.”

“A proposition, huh? You just going to fuck anyone to get out of here Little bird? Is that what you did with me? Fuck the King’s dog into loyalty. Have you been spreading your legs for everybody, girl? Trying to get somebody to save you? Save the poor little bird. Tell me, girl, did you like kissing him? Did it make you feel good?” Tears were brimming her eyes at his hurtful words. She could not speak to him like this, he would only believe what he chose to believe. 

Sansa had to swallow the bile that was forming in her throat to form words. She wished him to leave so he could calm down. Instead he only seemed ready to fight, fight away everything she would tell him and every reason she would have gone to see Littlefinger. She refused to open her mouth. “Tell me!” He placed his large hands on her shoulder and tightened his grip before shaking her.

Teeth bared, she spoke, “Fuck you, Sandor Clegane.” 

He had not expected that, his face blanked and for a split second, Sansa could have sworn she had thought remorse had crossed his fiery gaze. But then the Hound resurfaced and he smiled at her, a cruel smile. “Fuck me? You really want to, little bird? Feel my cock inside of you and then go for a turn with Littlefinger’s cunt? I’ll tell you one thing girl, won’t be much of a lay.”

She slapped him, hard. The resulting crack resonated in her ears and echoed through the chambers. Her fingers were tingling from the force of the impact. How dare he talk to her like that? Sansa could not remember a time being as infuriated as she was at the Hound’s words. It seemed that the slap only angered him more, Sansa hadn't intended for that. She had hoped he would have returned to his true self and stopped scaring her. Instead he reached for her, trapping her wrist in his hold. She began to struggle against his rough grip.

“Let me go and return me to my room.” She hoped that her tone was more collected and stern than she felt in that moment. He could crush her and she would not be able to stop him in the slightest. She reverted her gaze from his and heard him let out a loud sigh at she continued to try to fight him. 

“As my lady commands.” He released her shoulders but moved his grip firmly onto her upper hand. He quieted finally. But he still appeared with the desire to say more. Instead, he continued his way toward her chambers, dragging her along with him. Luckily for them, they did not pass any onlookers who may have found the way Sansa and the Hound interacted with each other odd. It was most definitely odd.

When they reached her chamber door, he opened it and shoved her inside. “Don’t let me find you wandering about, little bird. I will not be able to control my actions a second time.” He turned to leave, slamming the door behind him. She found her balance by steadying herself against the frame at the foot of her featherbed. 

Sansa felt her anger boiling inside of her. She desperately wanted to scream aloud to express her frustration with everyone around her. The Hound would never allow her to escape now that he knew what she planned. He would prevent her in any way he could from meeting up with Littlefinger ever again. Sansa was not sure if that was what was even causing her misery. 

Littlefinger had kissed her. Not a polite and friendly one, but it had insisted that he desired more from her. Perhaps Sandor had been correct about Littlefinger’s real intentions with her. Maybe he would never return her home and would keep her prisoner like Joffrey had. Sandor could have been saving her. Or keeping her for Joffrey.

Her thoughts were startled as her chamber door flew open once more. Sandor stood underneath the door frame wearing an expression of hatred she had never seen before. What could he have possibly wanted to call her now? Sansa crawled backwards on her bed in order to avoid whatever he planned to say or to do. But her stalked toward her even as she moved back from him. At her movements, he let out a loud growl as he quickly stood over her bed. He wrapped his large hand around her ankle and pulled hard.

Sansa panicked at his touch for what his eyes gleamed with told her that he was not quite done with the conversation just yet. As his hand released her, he crawled over her as she remained firmly planted on the bed. Her arms came up and began pushing at his chest to stop him from inflicting whatever pain he planned to hurt her with. It was surely what Joffrey and every other man would do to her in this situation. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and her arms stilled, clinging to her chest in a self protective measure. She could not fight the noises that escaped her throat. She sounded similar to a bear that had gotten it’s foot caught in a trap. 

His hands grabbed at her wrists and pinned them on either side of her against the silk sheets of her featherbed. “Stop, little bird! Someone will come!” He grit out and she stopped struggling, turning her cheek to the side to prevent him from seeing the tears that continued to fall. For whatever position she was in, she knew that if anyone were to overhear the noises coming from her chambers, the consequences inflicted by Joffrey would be deadly. She knew Sandor was right and it made her angry.

“You will not leave with Littlefinger, he will kill you. Maybe not by his own hand, but you will die if you leave with him!” He still remained above her and with each word he said, the tension in her stomach only twisted tighter with each word he spoke. She could not be sure what would happen to her under Littlefinger’s care but she did know what would happen to her if she stayed in King’s Landing.

“I will die if I stay here! Or have you forgotten what he did together?” She shot back, her head still turned away from him. His body was remained straddling hers. He was propped up on his elbows so he did not rest his entire weight on top of her, just enough to ensure she stayed in place. Even under the circumstances, she couldn't help the familiar throb that he awakened inside of her at his touch.

“But I can protect you here, I can at least try. You shouldn't trust him, girl. That dumb cunt doesn't do anything that doesn't work in his favor. He’ll try to fuck you or try to marry you so he can have the North. That cunt will not help you. He has no care for your life, little bird. Littlefinger will only save himself in the end.” 

How could Sandor desire to protect her? It seemed that all she ever did was annoy him. She couldn't look at him, she couldn't bear to see whatever reflected in his eyes. His tone held remorse but did he really feel it? He could never care for her, no one could. She would only ever be a pawn to be played, something to be conquered.

“Please. Stay.” It had come as a whisper, almost as if it had never meant to be said. But it was enough to finally push her to once more look at him. Her breath caught in her throat at what she saw. Longing and desire and protection. He wished to protect her from all those who wished to hurt her. He was right, she couldn't trust Littlefinger and his pretty words but she knew that she could trust Sandor. For in that moment, she knew without a doubt that he would protect her until his final breath. Perhaps, even after that.

“Okay.” She herself whispered. He released a breath and buried his head into the crook of her neck. He was breathing quickly as if he had just returned from battle. Sansa felt to comfort him and placed her hand lightly on the back of his skull, stroking the hair beneath her palm. His breath tickled her neck as he exhaled hotly across her flushed skin. The heat of his exhale was quickly replaced by the light trace of his mouth. His lips were warm and firm and felt so good against her skin. She could feel the trace of scar that burned the outer edge of the side of his mouth. Yet, it was just another sensation that he provided her. His touch would never be soft but softness was no longer something Sansa craved. 

Sandor continued to lick and suck at her throat causing Sansa to squirm under his touch. She was sure that he would leave a large mark but she cared little. She clung to him tighter. Any moment, she feared he could leave and she could not bear to let him go again, allow him to treat her as he would a stranger. Her fingers pulled tight at his hair when his lips located a particularly sensitive spot on her neck that had Sansa wanting to wrap around him. She grunted from the constrictions of her dress which held her stiff underneath him. He didn't seem to mind as he groaned against her throat, the vibrations traveling directly to her womansplace.

Sansa could feel the familiar throb contained within her smallclothes. She had missed Sandor. So much so that she could barely control her hips which rocked against his with each touch of his lips and tongue against her throat. His manhood had evidently hardened through his breeches and now ground firmly into her thigh. Sansa tried to meet his fervent thrusts with her own. But she still wasn't close enough to him. There was too much clothing.

Sansa groaned her impatience at the slow build of their coupling. He seemingly understood as his fingers traced over her skin and settled on her upper thigh which trembled beneath his touch. He lightly traced over the skin he found there and led his grip higher reaching the hem of her dress. Pulling away from her and with one swift movement, he tore her dress along the seam. She shuddered, not only from the cool air that now coated her skin but from his lust filled gaze that travelled up her exposed skin burning her body with its intensity. He appeared a man starved.

“Tell me what you want, Sansa.” He growled from above her. Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as she questioned her response. What did he mean? Of course she wanted him. She was panting underneath him awaiting his touch. It didn't seem to Sansa that there was much reason to question what she wanted. Even if she knew how to answer his question, she could not think with his fingers tracing circles on her thigh. It was hard enough to form thoughts, let alone speak them.

His hands didn't stop at her thighs and instead rested lightly on her smallclothes, just a short distance from where she needed his touch the most. He was trying to coax her into talking. Sansa could only pant and furiously nod her head. 

Immediately, he hooked his thumbs into her smallclothes and pulled. Her legs spread on their own allowing his knees to settle between them. His gaze focused on her womansplace and Sansa reddened. Without looking, she could feel how wet she was, it was beginning to coat her inner thighs. So did Sandor whose gaze was so darkened when he returned to her eyes, she felt momentarily embarrassed and looked away. She began to close her legs to escape his stare but his hands halted her movements. “Beautiful.” He murmured, Sansa wasn't sure if he had meant to say this aloud. Her thoughts were interrupted with a loud moan for as soon as his large fingers strummed the bundle of nerves just above her womansplace, she could no longer focus on her certainly unladylike behavior. She cried out before he placed his palm over her mouth to stifle the noises.

Sansa’s head rolled back at his quickened pace. His fingers were rubbing through her folds and Sansa could barely contain the noises that muffled through his palm. All of her muscles began to tense as her eyes squeezed shut. Her hand sought out his as she felt her pleasure rise. She began to buck her hips in time with his fingers to get more of anything just to feel what he was giving her now. Closer and closer… Sansa let out a frustrated sigh at the sudden loss of his touch. Her eyes had widened and her hips rolled forward in a failed attempt to get back the friction he had taken away.

“What do you want, little bird?” She was desperate. He would not allow her pleasure to continue until she finally spoke. 

“You! I want you. Sandor, please!” She panted her response. Her hand clutched at him, she was desperate. He finally smirked at her response and began to reach forward. But her hand halted his travel, “No, inside. Please.”

He paused for a moment, considering her words. Sansa could barely even recognize her own voice from the low timbre that echoed through the room. He appeared to still and pulled back slightly. Just when she thought he would retract fully, his fingers quickly went for his breeches. Sansa found herself watching shamelessly at his sloppy movements. She wanted to feel him inside of her again. 

She could hardly believe that being with Sandor could be the only time that Sansa felt alive. This typically scary man was her only source of happiness. Sandor Clegane was the only one who could make her feel good, make her feel anything other than misery. She was not prepared to give that up, she felt for him like no other. And when his eyes found hers, her heart swelled in her chest. Sansa could not imagine being without him any longer.

When he finally dropped his breeches, his large manhood bobbed slightly amongst the course hairs underneath. It was peculiar to look at now that it was more illuminated under the candle light. The veins along his shaft were visibly engorged and Sansa could see faint twitches as it grew closer. She admired his strength as her gaze travelled his body. The muscles in his thighs were tense and visible. His stomach was pulled taut and his muscled arms reached out for her.

Sandor pulled her up so she was sitting in his lap, her breasts pushed firmly into his chest. The hairs there created a strange friction against her chest and she felt herself squirm. 

His manhood was pressed hard and hot against her private place and she couldn't help but buck against him, moaning at the resulting pleasure that bloomed in her womansplace. Aligning herself with his manhood, she sunk down until he was completely sheathed inside of her. Her eyes bulged from the still new sensation. Yet she was pleasantly surprised that it no longer hurt as much as it had the first time. Allowing herself time to adjust, she began to move slowly up and down his length. She worked up a rhythm against him, pleasure beginning to replace the initial sensation. As her motions became faster, Sandor groaned and his hands found her hips stilling her movements. She was panting as she watched him with confusion. 

“You will not leave me. Say it.” He rolled his hips against hers. Her breath caught in her throat as his manhood found something inside of her that had her whole body convulsing. “Say it, Sansa.” His head reached down for her nipples kissing them lightly. Pain spread through her breast as he bit down lightly. 

She sobbed against him as his tongue played with the tender flesh, his other hand toying with her other breast. Inside of her she could feel the length of his manhood, it seemed to pulse inside of her. He bit down hard again. “I won’t leave you.” She had barely spoken the words before his mouth claimed hers.

His tongue sought permission and when she opened her mouth, his tongue swept inside. He kissed her with such fiery intensity that Sansa felt her entire being would explode from his heat. Her hand found his scarred cheek and stroked over the rough skin. He groaned into her mouth and Sansa sucked his tongue into her mouth, taking the opportunity to swallow his unexpected groan.

Sansa moaned loudly as he began to rock inside of her, setting a pleasing pace for both of them. Pelvis met pelvis as she continued to meet his own hard thrusts with her own. It was becoming easier to copy his movements from this angle and she trembled against him, enjoying the way he moved inside of her. 

With a grunt, he quickly flipped them over so he was once more on top. His hands found her knees and pulled them up so they pressed into his chest. Once more, he continued his onslaught on her body. Sansa began to realize that from this angle, whatever place inside of her he had found before was much more stimulated from his movements.

She cried out loudly. Her whole body was on fire. Any moment, she would meet her release. She could feel her body beginning to grow taut as a bowstring. His eyes bore into hers with blistering ferocity. As she got closer her head snapped to the side desperate to get air and escape his stare. Yet, his fingers reached for her chin and forced her gaze back to his. His eyes glimmered under the candlelight, the darkness they omitted swallowed her up. “Cum for me, Sansa.” At just these few words, Sansa felt her entire body release and convulse against his.

He continued to thrust inside of her, prolonging the sensations that had built up inside of her. Her hands reached for the sheets tightening her grasp firmly around them. He continued to snap his hips into hers and her gaze found his once more. Sweat was building around his forehead and Sansa could tell he was close to releasing inside of her. His pace quickened causing his thrusts to become more frenzied and rapid. Releasing a strangled cry, Sansa felt his release inside of her. His hips lightly rocked against hers as he continued to ride out his peak before stilling completely.

Sansa could feel his manhood begin to soften inside of her and placed an open-mouthed kiss to his pulsing throat. It was hammering beneath her lips and Sansa felt swelling pride in herself. However dangerous the situation they had placed themselves in, Sansa was certain that what she felt for Sandor was true. Even if he was no knight from the stories she had once cared for, Sansa had never felt more true to herself. Never more sure of what she had done. 

“I love you.” She whispered.


	9. Dead Birds Don’t Chirp

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa is forced to attend dinner when the night takes an unexpected turn.

Sansa strummed her fingers against the linen cloth of the table as she surveyed the dining room. The great hall was adorned in gold after Joffrey had insisted on restoring it to its former glory. Every inch appeared to be dripping in gold, covered by foul Lannisters. She would most likely be surrounded by gold until the day she died. Considering what she had done with the Hound, that day might come quicker than she had once thought. She would be finally be free of gold and Lannisters, the two things she wished to live without.

Sansa couldn't help but allow her gaze to sweep through the crowds. She knew who she was looking for, as embarrassed as she was with herself. Two days had passed since she had prematurely declared her love out loud only to have been completely shunned and abandoned in the night. He had slipped off of her in a heartbeat, dressed as quickly as would allow him, and fled from the room. She could only watch him go, far too stunned to speak or move. Since then, he had done his very best to avoid her much to her mortification. 

Sandor stood behind Joffrey, ever as imposing and large. He would not look at her, would not talk to her. She had tried approaching him twice after he had left her but he would continue to leave if she tried to speak to him. She had even tried reaching out to touch him but he had pulled his hand away almost as if her touch had burned him, as if nothing had happened between them. With a turn of his cloak, he had left her alone and tear ridden once more.

Although Joffrey had begun the evening tormenting Sansa, Joffrey’s focus had been taken off of her as soon as he had laid eyes upon the imp. Joffrey had insisted as he became increasingly inebriated that Tyrion would be his cupbearer for the rest of the evening. Tyrion almost appeared as miserable as Sansa was, perhaps even more. Sansa couldn't help the feeling of pity that had begun to grow in her chest toward the little man, even if Joffrey was paying her no mind because of it.

Those in the audience were either laughing along with Joffrey or pretending not to see the humiliation painted across Tyrion’s face. It appeared that she was not the only one was just trying to survive Joffrey.

It was impossibly tiring to attend these dinners yet Joffrey had insisted. Insisted, being the kind word, rather he and Meryn Trant had arrived at her chambers after Sansa had one of her handmaidens send word that she wasn't feeling well. Joffrey had behaved sickeningly sweetly at first until she refused to attend dinner again. Trant was sent to deal with her after that. 

Sansa rubbed her forearm where she was sure a greenish bruise was already appearing under the fine linen of her dress. Married to Joffrey, she would never be able to wear dresses that did not cover all portions of her skin ever again. 

How she had ever desired to live in the capital was beyond her. She had known nothing of the outside world, only the stupid stories of love that she had chosen to follow. Now, she sat among lions, most of whom wished nothing more than to claw her throat right out. 

Somehow, she had ended up sitting next to Littlefinger who was uncomfortably close to her, his knee brushing against hers. “My lady, how is your meal?” He grinned at her, his teeth shone in the light like a viper just as ready to kill as the lions that surrounded her.

Sansa smiled just as sweetly as she would for the king, “It is very good, thank you Lord Baelish.” 

“I’m very glad, my lady. Tonight is a special evening for you.” Sansa kept her gaze toward Sandor who turned to look at her just as Littlefinger opened his mouth to speak. Sansa was unsure what Littlefinger meant by ‘special evening’ but she knew better than to ask further. Littlefinger was not one to abandon a game before it was fully played out. Sandor continued to watch her and her heart fluttered in her chest. This was the first time he had explicitly looked at her since he had left her chambers. She wished she could convey her feelings for him in just one look but before she could take advantage of his extended gaze, Joffrey’s shrill voice pulled his attention away from her.

“Cupbearer! I don’t remember telling you that may sit back down. I’m still thirsty!” All eyes were on Tyrion as he visibly debated with himself over whether the punishment for refusing could be worse than serving Joffrey. Taking a large swig from his own glass, Tyrion pushed back his chair and reached for a new jug of wine. 

Sansa’s eyes followed Tyrion as he slowly crept through the room, jug in one hand and cup in the other. She looked over at Cersei who was clearly amused by her younger brother’s embarrassment. It was shocking how much a woman could hate her own flesh and blood brother, he had never meant for the way he entered the world to happen. Tyrion stopped in front of the King’s table and made a clear effort of pouring the wine into the cup before shoving it over to his nephew.

“That’s not so hard, now is it, uncle?” Joffrey laughed aloud prompting the rest of the hall to laugh along with him. Sansa did not laugh. Joffrey took a large swig from his glass before continuing, “Uncle, I do believe that I am hungry, bring me a slice of pigeon pie.” Tyrion turned to comply.

Joffrey began to cough, slightly at first then very loudly until his entire chest was shaking. It all happened very quickly, believing himself to be choking he downed the rest of his goblet before stumbling forward and falling to his knees. Cersei was beside Joffrey in a heartbeat screaming and panicking, cradling his head in her lap as foam began to pour from his mouth and the convulsions only grew. His eyes began to bleed and Sansa could not help but continue to watch emotionless as her tormenter lay suffering before her. 

In a last ditch effort, Joffrey raised his trembling arm and pointed to Tyrion who appeared just as surprised as anyone in the hall. Joffrey gave a final wheeze before his head lolled to the side and the convulsions stopped. Cersei stilled in her movements before letting out an inhumane screech. “Take him! Take him! Take him! TAKE HIM!” She shouted toward the guards as they rushed to arrest Tyrion. Refusing to even fight, Tyrion allowed the guards to take him as Cersei watched on. She would finally have what she had always wanted, Tyrion’s head. Before returning her gaze to Joffrey, Cersei’s eyes flicked to Sansa’s with such hatred she was sure that if not for her grief, Cersei would've stood and strangled her to death.

The guards surrounded the high tables as Tywin stood and ordered for the royal family to be safely escorted back into the castle. Sansa could not move, her eyes did not dare to leave Joffrey’s. Someone grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her forward to follow the group, Sansa had little care of who it was. All she desired was to stand over Joffrey and kick his rotting corpse. She needed to be sure he was dead. Whoever held onto her seemed to understand and pulled her roughly forward until her feet followed by instinct. Her eyes remained on Joffrey’s lifeless ones even as the distance between them grew further and further apart.

Sansa could feel her eyes glossing over. It didn't feel real, Joffrey was finally dead. She had wished and prayed and dreamt and it had happened. He was gone. Dead. He could never torment her ever again. Sansa couldn't help the bubbling laugh that escaped her throat. Sansa felt herself returning to her body as she took in her surroundings. A hand was still tight around her wrist and pulling her forward. Her eyes felt groggy and her body felt lightheaded. Sandor? No, it didn't feel like Sandor. Whoever was pulling her was doing so uncomfortably without the touch of a lover.

They stopped in a dark corridor, far enough away from the commotion that it was only a light murmur in her ear.  
“You’re safe now, my sweetling.” Littlefinger reached out to brush his fingers through her auburn curls, raising his hand holding her hair to his nose to take a large whiff. “He will never hurt you again, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, my love.”

He grew closer and closer to her until she was trapped between him and the wall behind her. Even with her height advantage over him, fear was beginning to paralyze her. “What did you do?” She whispered. It was already clear what he would say, why he would say he did it. Baelish was not one to give up easily, she should have known what he would do to get what he wanted from her. It was so clear to see now what Littlefinger was capable of, how easily he could change alliances.

“I poisoned him, my love. For you. For you and me.” He spoke softly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear allowing his hand to drift down her face until it rested along her neck. “I love you, Sansa. I can take you away from this, take you back home, you will be mine.” His hand continued to drift down her neck until it stopped above her heaving chest. The touch of his skin on hers felt wrong and panic danced down her spine. It was all she could do to stand still and let out tiny sounds of fear as his hands continued drifting.

“Stop.” It came out no louder than a murmur, as he continued touching her, eyeing her body under his lustful gaze, no doubt imagining what he would do to her. His hand came out to stroke the underside of her breast. She tried to swat him away but he deflected her. “Lord Baelish, stop this now!” 

“There’s no one preventing us from being together now, Sansa. I can take you back home. We can rule the North together. I know you want to go home, I will take you home. You have to trust me.”

Sansa could barely breathe. He was not listening to her, refusing to listen to her. He was prepared to take what he wanted from her. Sansa reached out to slap him but his hand gripped her wrist and squeezed hard. “Sansa, don't make me think you don't want this. I know you want this.”

“I don’t want you!” She screamed loudly trying to kick him away from her but his grip on her was tight and unyielding. 

“Of course you do, you know how much I love you Sansa. You remind me so much of your mother, yet you are so much more beautiful than she ever was. You have so much more fire and spirit than her.” Sansa cried loudly as she felt his hard manhood press insistently into her. Memories of the Bread Riot overwhelmed her senses. It made her feel just as helpless now as she had been then. She could not claw herself away from this sick man.

How could she have just escaped her tormenter to have been thrown directly back into harm’s way? Littlefinger was rocking against her now and she could not stop him. His breathy moans was causing her stomach to heave. She was sure at any moment she would throw up. The strength of her arms and legs were no match for him and he trapped her easily, continuing his movements. It was becoming hard to breathe. His hand began to unlace his breeches and Sansa screamed. At this moment, she wished anyone could hear her, anyone at all. He placed his hand over her mouth as he worked on pulling his breeches down his legs.

“No, stop!” She tried to speak through his hand once she saw his manhood jutting out from between his legs. Nothing had ever looked so disgusting. She bit the inside of his palm to try to escape. He snatched his hand back to his side groaning in pain as he shook his head at her.

“Now, now Sansa. You mustn't do that.” Flipping her around, he now had her with her stomach pressing against the wall and his manhood pressing against her bottom. “Be a good girl and spread your legs.” He pushed her legs apart with his knees and she couldn't fight anymore. All ounces of fight drained from her body and she willed herself away. It would hurt if she continued to struggle against him, she could escape him if he believed she trusted him. “Considering you have fucked the Hound, I’m assuming you are worn in enough that you won’t need any help. I’ve waited a long time for this, sweetling” His hand reached down to raise her skirts and started to undo her smallclothes.

A sudden gasp halted his movements before the sound of a large sack of meat hitting the floor echoed down the corridor. The blood was still pulsing in her ears as Sansa stood still pressed against the wall, unable to move. She opened her mouth to scream.

A hand was placed over her mouth to stifle the noise. She inhaled the familiar smell of alcohol and metal as the tension exited her body in one swift exhale. Sandor pressed against her from behind. The feel of his cold armor against her made the tears spill even faster down her cheeks. He wrapped his arms around her middle and held on as she shook against him. 

“I’m so sorry, little bird.” The deep timbre of his voice vibrated through her. As upset as she was, she couldn't help but feel calmed by his overall familiarity. The smell of his hair, the alcohol that seemingly followed him around. She wished to be closer to him, to never allow him to leave her ever again. 

Sansa could not catch her breath even as the puddle of blood confirming Littlefinger’s death pooled around her shoes. She could not turn to look at Sandor, he had betrayed her, left her, thrown her back to those that were determined to torment her, rape her, kill her. 

“Little bird…” Sandor’s voice trailed off. He placed his large hand on her shoulder and slowly turned her around to face him. Through her tears, she could barely make out the expression of sorrow and regret molded across his face. She had never seen him this vulnerable before. It almost appeared as if he was just as fearful as she had been.

“You…you… you left me.” She could barely understand herself as is. By the shadow cast across his face, she figured he could hear her clearly. “You left me, you left me!” She cried as she burrowed against his chest unable to control the gasps and wails that shook her entire being. Sansa could not remember a time she felt so angry.

“I thought you would die if I stayed.” His voice came out barely above a whisper. That was not good enough of an answer. He was supposed to protect her, to love her. He had made her tell him she would never leave him and then proceeded to leave himself!

“I almost died because you left me. I told you I loved you and you left me! You left me!” Her hands began to bang into his chest. She could feel the red rising in her cheeks and continued to hit him harder. Unaffected by her, he let her until she could take no more and shrunk to a ball on the floor. 

He lowered himself down onto his knees and rubbed her back as she sobbed. She couldn't help but smile a little at that, it was after all a very unusual thing for someone as rough as the Hound to be so gentle with her. He pulled at her shoulders until she was on her knees before him as well. He was still looking down at her even with her on her knees as well as he placed his palm on her cheek. “I will never leave you again, Sansa.” Her heart fluttered on it’s own accord. No matter how mad she was at him, it seemed her body had forgiven him the minute he had saved her from Littlefinger. 

“I love you.” He spoke gently. Her wide eyes snapped to his and she saw the truth of his words. “I love you so much.” He pulled her face to his and pressed his lips against hers. Stunned at first, Sansa felt herself quickly melt into the kiss until she was pressing herself against him with such urgency and filled with such glee she barely recognized the feeling. 

“I love you.” She spoke just as gently against his lips. He kissed her quickly then before pulling himself up and then her. “Don’t ever leave me.”

“I will never leave you again, little bird. Never.” She pulled his head down again and kissed him hard. Her lips molded over his until they were both panting against each other. A noise from the other side of the hall shook them apart.

“Do you trust me?” He asked, reaching his hand out toward her.

“Yes” She breathed and placed her palm inside his warm one. She smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking around and reading! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! Leave a comment with what you thought!


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